•8! 


Reproduced  by  DUOPAGE      process 
in  the  United  Stales  of  America 


MICRO  PHOTO  INC. 
Cleveland  12,  Ohio 


THE   LIGHT   OF 


OP  NEW  YORK. 

BY 

HJALMAR  HJORTH  BOYESEN 

AUTHO*  OF  "ODKKAE,"  «,DTL8  S"lfO 
"A  DATOHTBl  O»  TUB  FHIU1TIK.S, 


7 


NEW  YORK    I  •,  .  i 
D.  APPLBTON  AND  COMPANY 
1889 


COPYRIGHT,  1889, 
BT  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


All  righto  retened. 


\W*. 

' 


NOTE. 

SOME  of  the  characters  and  scenes  of  the  pres 
ent  novel  made  their  first  appearance  in  a  novelette 
which  I  published  anonymously  in  "  Lippincott's 
Magazine"  for  May,  1888.  Though  the  differ 
ences  between  the  two  stories  seem  to  me  more 
marked  than  their  similarities,  a  family  resem 
blance  may  be  recognizable. 

H.  H.  B. 

SOUTHAMPTON,  h.  I.,  «/u/y,  1889. 


969 


CONTENTS. 


I.— VANITY  or  VANITIES 7 


II. — A  MOKENTOUB  DECISION 24 

IIL — THE  BEAUTIFUL  HEATHEN 85 

IV.— THE  FINGER  or  FA-HE.  .        .        .        .        .        .  43 

V. — A  POLITICAL  EPISODE 62 

VI.— A   CONYKRSATIONAL   ARTIST  .  .  .  .  .61 

VII.— A  Quixono  QUEST 73 

VIIL— CIRCE'S  SUITORS 82 

IX. — CRAMP-TON'S  BEQUEST 97 

X.— ARCADES  AMBO .'       .104 

XL — AMONG  THE  DC  AD 110 

XII.— A  CHARMING  T£TI-A-TKT*   .        .        .  .        .122 

XIII.— A  MELODIOUS  INTERLUDE 128 

XIV. — A  GLIMPSE  or  THE  GODDESS       .....  133 
XV.— A  FATHER  CONFESSOR         .        .       .        .        .       .142 

XVL— A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER 149 

XVII. — THJE  ETERNAL  RIDDLE 158 

XVni.— STRAYING  SHEEP         .        .        ,        .        .        .        .167 

XIX. "THOU    SHALT   RENOUNCE,    ABSTAIN,    REFRAIN"       ,  .    175 

XX. — A  DISGUISED  COMPLIMENT  .        .        .        .        .        .185 

XXL — ELECTITE  AFFINITIES  .        .        .        .        .        .        •  194 

XXII.— SIR  PERCY'S  FETE  CHAMP£TU 202 

XXIII.—14  WHO  CAM   CONTEND  WITH  THE   GODS  "         .  .  .214 

.—A  DEJEUNER  1  LA  FOURCHETTE  .  .  S21 


0  CONTENT& 

OHAPTBB  FAOB 

XXV.— DESCENSUS  AVERNI  . 238 

XXVI.— A  PERPLEXING  SITUATION 246 

XXVII,— THE  SUPREME  MOMENT     .       .       .       .       .       .255 

XXVIIL— A  SISTER  or  CHARITT 266 

XXIX.— LIFE'S  FLORESCENCE 278 

XXX.— AN  EMBARRASSING  CONSCIENCE        .        .        .       .280 

XXXI.— PENITENTIAL  YEARS 291 

XXXII.— COLLISIONS      .  .  299 


OP  KEY/  YORK 
THE  LIGHT  OF 

HER  COUNTENANCE. 


CUAPTER  I. 

VANITY   OF  VANITIES. 

JULIAN  BURROUGHS  was  reclining  in  a  leather- 
covered  easy-chair  between  a  richly  draped  window 
and  an. oaken  writing-table  of  elaborate  workmanship. 
A  drowsy  wood-fire,  breaking  fitfully  into  flame,  was 
burning  between  a  pair  of  artfully  twisted  brass  andi 
rons.  It  filled  the  room  with  its  ruddy  glow  and 
glistened  on  the  many  ornaments ;  but  did  not  dispel 
the  twilight 

Julian  was  weary — unutterably  weary.  He  would 
have  sworn,  if  it  had  not  required  too  much  of  an  exer 
tion.  His  whole  anatomy  seemed  to  have  collapsed ; 
and  his  handsome  face  scarcely  had  the  energy  to  re 
tain  any  sort  of  definable  expression.  The  corners  of 
his  mouth  twitched  now  and  then ;  and  his  half-closed 
eyes  wandered  among  the  luxurious  appointments  of 
the  room  witlTa  look  of  languid  disgust.  He  drew  a 
long  breath  that  half  resembled  a  sigh,  and  slowly 
shook  his  head.  Painful  recollections  emerged  from 
his  memory  and  made  him  shudder. 

Julian  Burroughs  was  a  tall  young  man  of  about 


g  THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

thirty,  of  robust  build,  strong  chest,  and  good  propor 
tions.  There  was  an  air  of  distinction  about  him  even 
in  his  present  negligfo.  The  broad-striped  rod  and 
white  pajamas  which  enveloped  him  in  their  loose  folds 
were  made  of  the  finest  cashmere  wool,  and  with  their 
caressing  softness  invited  abandonment  to  indolence 
and  repose.  A  glance  would  convince  you  that  Julian 
was  a  man  of  fashion  who,  without  being  finical, 
was  careful  in  the  choice  and  make  of  his  garments. 
Every  tiling  that  came  in  contact  with  his  person  had 
to  have  a  pronounced  style  in  harmony  with  the  tout 
ensemble.  The  neat  slippers  of  alligator  skin  which 
incased  his  feet  had  cJtic,  and  even  the  pattern  of  his 
silken  socks  had  a  kind  of  mysterious  propriety  which 
made  any  other  pattern  inconceivable.  The  peaked 
dark-brown  beard  and  mustache,  the  straight  nose, 
and  a  certain  weary  hauteur  in  his  eyes  contributed 
additional  individualizing  touches  and  completed  the 
external  guise  of  a  very  impressive  personality.  What 
made  it  impressive  was,  perhaps,  not  so  much  the  traits 
which  I  have  mentioned,  as  something  that  smol 
dered  beneath  the  neutral  appearances.  It  required  a 
second  glance  to  discover  that  there  was  a  bold  inten 
tion  in  the  modeling  of  the  young  man's  features; 
but  polished  off  and  refined  by  some  secondary  pro 
cess  which  scarcely  permitted  the  original  vigor  to 
shine  through.  It  was  a  not  uncommon  Western  type, 
at  one  or  two  removes  from  the  soil ;  seen  through  the 
softening  vail  of  civilization.  It  was  the  face  of  a  man 
of  strong  passions  not  successfully  held  in  check.  A 
restless,  energetic  nature  sometimes  flashed  forth  in 
the  brown  eyes,  and  even  in  their  present  jaded  look 
there  was  a  kind  of  baffled  eagerness  which  flared  up 


VANITY  OP  VANITIES.  9 

for  a  moment  and  vanished.  A  young  girl  once  Baid 
of  Julian  Burroughs  that  he  looked  like  a  dissipated 
lion ;  and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  that  is  the  descriptive 
phrase  which  expresses  him,  for  there  was  a  suggestion 
of  something  leonine,  not  fully  carried  out,  in  the  cast 
of  his  countenance.  No  mere  vulgar  viveur,  bent  upon 
getting  the  most  out  of  life  in  the  way  of.  enjoyment, 
could  have  had  such  noble  seriousness  in  his  eyes  in 
his  best  moments,  nor  such  a  burning  disdain  and  dis 
gust  in  his  worst^ 

There  was  a  certain  daring  even  in  the  furniture  of 
the  room.  The  beautiful  life-size  figure  called  "  La 
Verite,"  copied  by  the  master  himself,  which  hung 
over  the  mantel,  confronted  you  with  her  uncompro 
mising  mirror  and  her  unblushing  nudity  as  soon  as 
you  crossed  the  threshold.  Everything  else  that  might 
attract  your  eye  was  a  trifle  dwarfed  by  the  great  and 
startling  painting.  "  Venus  rising  from  the  Foam  of  the 
Sea  "  was  altogether  too  French  to  assert  herself  beside 
the  resplendent  "Verite";  and  Si  Asthony  tempted 
by  a  jaunty  Parisian  devil  in  marble  was  for  the  same 
reason  doomed  to  insignificance.  The  costly  hangings 
in  old  gold  and  peacock  blue  were  meant,  of  course,  to 
bo  subordinate,  but  furnished  a  rich  setting  to  the 
snowy  whiteness  of  the  marble  group.  There  were 
taste,  a  certain  sophisticated  caprice,  and  (as  many 
thought)  a  bold  desire  to  shock  in  the  whole  luxurious 
interior.  These  were  the  private  quarters  of  a  bachelor, 
to  be  sure,  and  not  meant  for  promiscuous  company. 
But  then,  on  the  other  hand,  these  art  treasures  were 
too  precious  to  be  hidden,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
were  frequently  exhibited  to  persons  of  both  sexes 
who  professed  freedom  from  conventional  prejudice. 


10         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

The  Iric-b-lraCt  particularly  the  Japanese  lacquer  and 
bronzes,  were  of  unique  value,  and  a  small  but  famous 
Teniers  representing  a  brawl  at  a  village  inn,  attracted 
visitors  who  could  afford  to  ignore  the  nakedness  of 
"  Truth."  Mr.  Burroughs  himself  was  very  proud  of 
this  little  Dutch  gem,  and  liked  to  show  it,  not  be 
cause  he  gloried  in  his  connoisseurship,  but  because  of 
the  distinction  which  the  possession  of  such  a  rare  and 
precious  picture  conferred  upon  him.  He  felt  excep 
tional  himself  in  having  gratified  such  an  expensive 
fancy ;  and  there  was  nothing  which  to  him  made  life 
more  worth  living  than  this  sense  of  being  exceptional. 

"While  Mr.  Burroughs  sat  dozing  in  his  chair,  there 
was  a  knock  at  his  door  which  was  twice  repeated. 
A  gruff  "  Come  in  "  admitted  a  demure  servant  in  a 
dress-coat,  who  carried  a  dozen  letters  on  a  silver  tray. 
The  young  man  roused  himself  with  visible  reluct 
ance,  took  the  letters,  and  loft  them  lying  unopened 
upon  the  table. 

"  Bring  me  a  krug  of  seltzer,"  he  said. 

The  servant  bowed  mutely  and  backed  out  of  the 
door.  When  ho  returned  with  the  beverage  his  mas 
ter  handed  him  a  key  to  a  cupboard  in  the  next  room, 
and  he  went  without  further  instruction  and  reap 
peared  with  a  graded  glass  and  a  bottle  of  cognac. 
The  process  of  mixing  was  a  delicate  one,  but  was  sat 
isfactorily  accomplished.  Burroughs  drank  the  con 
tents  of  the  glass  with  deliberation,  and  then,  as  his 
eyes  fell  upon  his  servitor,  remarked : 

"  Jackson,  you  know  I  don't  allow  any  servant  in 
my  employ  to  wear  a  mustache.  If  you  don't  shave  off 
that  stubble  before  to-morrow  you  may  consider  your 
self  discharged." 


VANITY  OP  VANITIES.  11 

JackBon  bowed  again,  but  ventured   no  remon 
strance. 

44  Anything  else,  sir  ?  "  ho  asked. 

"  No ;  you  may  go." 

The  stimulant  revived  Julian's  drooping  spirits, 
and  ho  presently  straightened  himself  up  in  his  chair 
and  began  to  look  over  his  letters.  Most  of  them  were 
invitations.  Two  emitted  a  vague  perfume  which  sug 
gested  billets  donx,  and  only  one  had  the  appearance 
of  a  lona-fide  epistle.  The  post-mark  Koma  and  the 
canceled  Italian  stamps  of  the  latter  aroused  a  languid 
interest  in  the  jaded  young  man.  He  broke  the  seal, 
the  crest  of  which  he  recognized,  and  began  to  read. 
The  writer,  George  Crampton,  was  the  man  of  all  men 
whom  he  had  been  fondest  of  in  his  callow  days,  and 
a  serener  and  more  mature  friendship  had  survived  the 
effervescence  of  youthful  feeling.  Crampton  had  been 
Julian's  chum  at  Harvard  and  had  committed  no  end 
of  follies,  from  the  consequences  of  which  his  friend 
had  taken  pleasure  in  extricating  him.  He  had  now' 
inherited  a  scanty  competence,  which  would  just  have 
sufficed  for  any  one  else  to  starve  on;  but  this  bold 
enthusiast,  exulting  in  his  exemption  from  soul-crip 
pling  toil,  took  the  first  steamer  for  Italy  and  pro 
claimed  his  intention  henceforth  to  live  like  the  lilies 
of  the  field,  which  sow  not,  neither  do  they  spin.  He 
would  have  liked,  above  all  things,  to  become  an  artist, 
but  feared  that  his  chance  of  startling  the  world  in 
that  capacity  was  past.  He  was  aware  that  a  man 
who  at  twenty-five  is  yet  in  doubt  as  to  his  choice  of 
profession  has  not  much  prospect  of  attaining  emi 
nence.  As  far  as  the  world.is  concerned  it  ia  of  very 
little  consequence  what  he  chooses.  Crampton,  realiz- 


12         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

ing  this,  could  nevertheless  not  abandon  his  pet  ambi 
tion.  He  had  no  delusion  about  his  talent  Seeing 
no  chance  of  becoming  a  good  artist,  he  had  the  cour 
age  to  become  a  poor  one.  He  called  himself  an  ama 
teur,  an  art  critic,  collector,  and  what  not,  but  pegged 
away  with  a  kind  of  humorous  persistence  at  canvases 
which  he  had  not  the  hardihood  to  offer  for  sale. 

To  Burroughs  he  had  been  of  great  service.  Living 
alternately  in  Rome  and  Florence,  and  being  continu 
ally  in  the  way  of  making  artistic  discoveries,  he  had 
received  carte  blanche  from  his  friend  to  buy  anything 
that  he  deemed  worth  buying.  The  Teniers  and  half 
the  precious  bronzes  would  never  have  found  their  way 
across  the  Atlantic,  if  Crampton  had  not  possessed 
his.  keen  scent  for  ancient  treasures  and  an  unerring 
judgment  of  their  values.  He  was  continually  mous 
ing  in  obscure  palaces  and  out-of-the-way  shops,  and 
was  regularly  in  the  habit  of  reporting  his  finds  to  his 
friend  and  patron.  It  was  therefore  a  discourse  on 
Italian  art,  on  the  spirituality  of  Fra  Angelico  or  the 
sensuousnoss  of  Tintoretto,  or  something  in  that  line, 
which  Burroughs  expected  when  he  broke  the  elabo 
rate  yellow  seal  of  Crampton's  epistle ;  but  the  very 
look  of  the  sheet,  scratched  over  with  thick,  excited 
letters  chasing  each  other  pell-mell  across  the  page, 
showed  him  that  the  writer  had  been  laboring  under 
an  unusual  agitation.  Something  beside  Madonnas 
and  bric-a-brac  had  interfered  with  his  repose. 

"  CAUISSIMO  MIO  FRATELLO,"  the  letter  began, 
"  I  have  peon  a  vision  which  mounts  like  strong  wine 
to  my  head.  I  swear  to  you,  Julian,  that  as  long  as  you 
haven't  seen  that  girl— -that  woman— that  goddess — 


VANITY  OF  VANITIES.  13 

call  her  what  you  like — you  have  no  right  to  hold  up 
your  nose  and  call  yourself  a  connoisseur  of  the  sex. 
It  is  of  course  the  insanest  audacity  for  me  to  lift  up 
mine  eyes  to  such  a  transcendent  creature  ;  but  I  have 
done  it,  Julian,  and  it  can  not  be  undone.    Nor  should    \j 
I  wish  it  to  be  undone.     I  would  rather  sink  into 
instantaneous  blessed  extinction,  having  seen  such  a 
woman,  than  lounge  through  a  tedious  eternity  unil- 
lumined  by  the  radiance  of  her  presence.     I  am  talk 
ing  rapturous  nonsense,  of  course,  and  you  put  me 
down  as  an  idiot,  but  it  is  the  kind  of  idiocy  which 
'  is  a  million  times  wiser  than  wisdom ;  it  is  the  kind 
of  Delphic  madness  which   inspires  glorious  dithy- 
rambic  speech.     I  feel  in  this  moment  what  tremen 
dous  possibilities  of  happiness  there  are  in  me,  what 
life  might  be  at  its  highest,  if  the  gods  had  not  been 
the  envious  wretches  that  we  know  from  ^Eschylua 
that  they  are.     Well,  I  see  your  ironical  smile.     He  is 
in  love  with  some  Italian  girl,  I  hear  you  say.     But 
no,  Julian,  absurd  as  the  assertion  may  seem  to  you,  I 
am  not  in  love  with  her,  nor  is  she  an  Italian.     4  The 
desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star,'  that  is  not  love ;  it  is 
something  far  higher.     Its  sublime  hopelessness  digni 
fies  it     Call  it  worship — sun-worship,  fire-worship,  if 
you  like!    It  excludes  even  the  remotest  hint  of  a 
hope  of  possession.    But  the  moth  must  have  a  more 
exalted  respect  for  himself  in  having  aspired  so  far 
above  his  station,  in  having  burned  up  his  gray  lit 
tle  life  in  such  a  radiant  stellar  passion.    Well,  now, 
dear  Julian,  do  you  know  the  wildly  preposterous 
thought  that  keeps  humming  deliriously  in  my  brain  ? 
It  is  this :  You  are  the  man — the  only  man  I  know 
—who  can  and  will  win  the  love  of  this  inconceivably 


14:         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

glorious  woman.  I  don't  ask  you  to  come  now ;  for 
I  am  not  magnanimous  enough  to  wish  to  witness 
your  triumph.  But  a  deep  insight,  or  instinct,  tells 
me  that  you  will  gloriously  conquer  where  I  am  pre 
destined  to  suffer  a  no  less  glorious  defeat.  There 
is  no  man  on  earth  whom  I  can  imagine  seated  at  her 
side  whose  caress  would  not  seem  to  he  a  crying  in 
congruity — an  outrageous  insult.  Well,  dear  Julian, 
I  have  exhausted  my  adjectives,  and  succeeded  in 
calming  myself  somewhat  by  committing  my  mad 
ness  to  the  mail,  and  putting  five  green  stamps  with 
Umberto's  big  mustache  upon  it. 

"  Do  not  imagine,  old  chap,  that  I  have  taken  leave 
of  my  senses.  I  have  only  just  now  discovered  them. 
My  sight,  my  smell,  my  hearing,  have  waked  up  with 
a  dewy  morning  freshness,  and  shaken  oil  the  Puri 
tanic  dust  which  so  long  has  dulled  them ;  and  my 
poor,  disused  seuse  of  touch  is  tingling  with  exquisite 
anticipated  possibilities  which  will  never  be  anything 
else.  Yet,  Julian,  I  am  wondrously,  superlatively 
alive.  But  it  is  a  kind  of  life  which  is  too  intense  to 
last  long.  It  would  not  surprise  me  if,  like  Elias,  I 
started,  by  limited  celestial  express,  in  a  chariot  of 
fire,  for  paradise.  If  you  should  hear  that  I  have 
taken  unto  myself  wings,  then  think  kindly  of  my 
divine  folly,  and  accept  iny  pictures  and  bibelots  us 
souvenirs  of  Your  friend,  GEORGE." 

There  was  a  note  in  this  letter  which  greatly  dis 
turbed  Burroughs.  The  emotion  with  which  every 
word  was  charged  communicated  itself  to  him,  ting 
ling  in  his  very  finger-tips.  There  was  an  undertone 
of  desperation  in  it,  which  vibrated  audibly  iu  his 


VANITY  OP  VANITIEa  15 

ears.  And  after  this  rapturous  outburst,  not  even  to 
mention  the  girl's  name,  nor  a  single  circumstance 
by  which  she  could  be  identified — that  was  so  like 
George  Crampton  that  Burroughs  had  to  smile  in 
spite  of  his  sadness.  He  dropped  the  letter  into  his 
lap  and  sat  pondering.  He  loved  this  man  as  well  aa 
he  was  capable  of  loving  anybody.  He  seemed  en 
dowed  with  a  bright  and  joyous  spirit  which  mado 
him  Jovable.  Even  with  his  propensity  for  folly  he 
could  sympathize;  for  Crampton  did  in  his  college  days 
the  foolish  things  whicli  Burroughs  would  have  liked  j 
to  do,  but  by  a  sobering  Yankee  calculation  was  re-  \ 
strained  from  doing.  What  was  then  more  natural 
than  that  he  should,  as  far  as  he  was  able,  have  as 
sumed  the  consequences  of  his  friend's  indiscretions ! 

But  now,  alas!  Julian  had  follies  enough  of  his 
own  to  answer  for.  He  had  for  two  years  been  in 
bondage  to  a  woman  whom  once  he  had  loved,  but 
now  despised.  And  his  conscience  told  him  that  he 
was  himself  the  cause  of  his  contempt  for  her.  That 
she  was  at  heart  a  low  and  vulgar  coquette,  he  had 
but  recently  discovered;  but  whether  it  was  not  he 
who  had  made  her  so,  was  the  question  that  tormented . 
him.  The  bonds  which  he  had  lightly  assumed  were 
becoming  galling  to  him.  They  cut  into  his  flesh 
and  caused  him  pain.  And  the  degradation  of  it  all, 
the  bitterness,  the  self-contempt,  how  could  he  ever 
rid  himself  of  that^  How  could  he  ever  hold  up  his 
head  again  ?  How  could  he  bave  been  so  frightfully 
mistaken  in  hia  judgment  of  a  human  being?  How 
could  he  have  attributed  truth  to  one  so  false  and 
flimsy,  or  nobleness  to  one  so  ignoble?  And  for 
base  reasons  to  have  endured  such  a  relation,  after  he 


10          THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

had  discovered  her  faithlessness — that  was  what  caused 
him  in  retrospect  the  deepest  misery.  Now  it  was 
.at  lost  over;  but  his  retreat,  when  ho  reflected  upon 
it,  seemed  cowardly — devoid  of  a  single  redeeming 
circumstance.  Ho  loathed  himself  for  having  said 
the  things  he  had  been  compelled  to  say,  and  for 
having  done  the  thing  he  had  been  compelled  to  do. 
It  was  a  question  of  self-preservation,  but  that  didn't 
help  the  mutter — didn't  make  it  any  loss  odious.  If  ho 
hud  only  been  a  frank  and  unmitigated  brute  who 
could  acquit  himself  of  such  a  scene  without  wincing, 
it  might  have  saved  him  a  deal  of  suffering.  But  men 
sometimes  do  brutal  things  without  being  brutes. 

All  these  reflections  and  many  more  passed  in  a 
elmdowy  procession  through  Julian's  mind,  and  echoes 
of  all  the  cruel  words  he  had  uttered  flitted  through 
his  brain  and  made  it  impossible  to  concentrate  his 
thoughts  upon  any  other  subject.  Ho  was  vaguely 
disturbed  about,  Crampton's  fate,  vaguely  humbled 
by  his  faith  in  him,  vaguely  touched  by  his  bequeath 
ing  to  him  tho  love  which  hud  been  or  would  bo  hid 
own  undoing.  But  if  that  deluded  youth  had  but 
known  his  friend,  whom  in  his  loverlike  self-abuse- 
mont  ho  placed  so  far  above  himself,  he  would  have 
shrunk  from  committing  anything  that  was  pure  and 
prociouH  to  bin  keeping.  Julian  Bhuddored  again, 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  closed  his  eyes,  and  tried  to 
think  of  nothing. 

He  was  just  drifting  into  semi-consciousness,  when 
he  was  startled  by  a  sharp  knock  at  the  door ;  and 
before  he  had  time  to  say,  "  Come  in,"  an  elderly  gen 
tleman  dressed  in  black  broadcloth  entered  with  a 
newspaper  in  his  hand. 


VANITY  OF  VANITIES.  17 

44  Screw  up  your  gas,  Jnlc,  and  let's  have  a  little 
light,"  he  said,  quietly,  as  he  seated  himself,  with  some 
difficulty,  in  a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

He  had  a  shrewd,  hard-featured,  Uncle  Sam  kind  of 
a  face,  adorned  with  a  gray,  round-clipped  chin-beard. 
He  was  broad-shouldered,  inclined  to  stoutness,  stooped 
in  his  walk,  and  moved  with  a  caution  which  sug 
gested  rheumatism.  And  yet  there  was  a  certain  rudo 
dignity,  a  consciousness  of  distinction  in  the  way  ho 
carried  himself.  It  would  surprise  no  one  to  learn, 
after  having  observed  the  Honorable  Abiel  Burroughs, 
that  he  had  been  sixteen  years  in  Congress  and  for  six 
years  represented  his  country  as  minister  to  a  foreign 
court.  Although  he  was  scarcely  a  gentleman  in  the 
strictest  sense,  (for  it  is  possible  to  be  a  minister  of 
the  United  States  without  being  a  gentleman),  he  had 
a  weighty  presence  and  the  air  of  a  man  of  affairs 
who  had  habitually  concerned  himself  with  large 
interests.  Hence  a  certain  amplitude  of  person  which 
was  not  wholly  physical  and  the  impressiveness  of  his 
manner. 

44  Jule,"  he  said,  as  ho  leaned  over  toward  his  son, 
regarding  him  narrowly  in  the  brightened  light, 44 1 
guess  you  are  in  a  bad  way." 

"I  am  not  feeling  quite  well,"  replied  the  son, 
drearily. 

44  I  guess  I  won't  trouble  you  with  bad  news  then," 
the  old  man  continued,  folding  the  paper  and  cram 
ming  it  into  his  pocket 

44  Anything  about  Crampton  ?  " 

"Well,  I'll  be  blowedl  How  did  you  hit  upon 
that?" 

44 Is  he  dead?" 


18         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

44  Yes,  there  is  a  telegram  from  Rome  in  the  '  Com- 
mercial,'  saying  that  ho  died  suddenly,  last  night" 

44  Does  it  say  that  he  killed  himself  ?  " 

44  No ;  what  makes  you  think  he  did  ?  " 

44 1  had  a  letter  from  him  to-day.  It  is  the  letter 
of  a  man  who  is  capable  of  killing  himself." 

44  Any  woman  in  the  case  ?  " 

44  Yes." 

44  Ilm !  That  is  a  bad  introduction  to  the  subject 
I  came  to  talk  with  you  about." 

Julian  rose  suddenly  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  upon  the  floor.  Only  the  strained  lines  about 
his  eyes  and  mouth  betrayed  the  pain  he  felt  and  the 
effort  it  cost  him  not  to  yield  to  it. 

He  was  by  half  a  head  taller  than  his  father,  to 
whom,  at  first  sight,  he  scarcely  seemed  to  bear  a  trace 
of  resemblance.  He  was,  in  the  first  place,  a  much  hand 
somer  man  than  the  Honorable  Abiel  could  ever  have 
been ;  and  secondly,  there  was  a  finish  in  his  manner 
and  an  elegance  in  his  bearing  which  no  man  of  back 
woods  antecedents  could  have  attained.  The  ex-minis 
ter  bore  the  ineradicable  marks  of  early  hardships  and 
a  rude  rearing,  while  his  son  had  enjoyed  all  the  ad 
vantages  which  two  continents  could  lavish  upon  him. 
And  yet  to  a  close  observer  the  type  was  fundamentally 
the  same,  and  the  son  appeared  what  he  really  was — 
an  edition  de  luxe  of  his  self-made  father. 

.. "  Excuse  me  for  a  minute,  governor,"  he  said,  tak 
ing  an  abrupt  turn  through  a  half-opened  door  into  an 
adjoining  room. 
"  All  right." 

The  Honorable  Abiel  lighted  another  gas-jet  (he 
could  not  endure  a  dim  light),  and  looking  up  shook 


VANITY  OF  VANITIES.  19 

liis     head     with    dreary    perplexity    at    tho    nude 
"Veritu." 

44  Well,"  ho  murmured,  "  I've  heard  chat  Truth  was 
naked,  but,  somehow,  I  never  suspected  she  was  as 
naked  as  that." 

He  let  his  eyes  wander  about  tho  room,  dwelling 
with  tho  same  puzzled  frown  on  the  other  nudities 
which  the  walls  displayed,  and  again  he  shook  his  head, 
with  grave  disapproval. 

"  I  reckon  I've  been  rather  too  easy  with  that  boy," 
he  said  half  audibly  to  himself,  "  but  lie  was  so  darned 
smart  that  I  couldn't  somehow  make  up  my  mind  to 
interfere  with  him  as  much  as  I  had  ought  to." 

The  son  here  reappeared,  arrayed  in  a  dressing- 
gown  of  Japanese  silk.  He  had  visibly  pulled  himself 
together,  and  was  determined  to  exhibit  no  weakness. 
"  Will  you  smoke,  governor,"  he  asked  putting  a  silver 
box  of  cigars  with  various  compartments  on  the  table. 
44  This,  I  think,  is  your  weed — Regalia,  medium.  They 
are  just  right." 

"  No,  thanks,  Jule,"  the  father  replied.  "  I  ain't 
in  a  mood  for  smoking.  I  haven't  bothered  you  much 
with  interference  or  advice,  I  reckon,  of  late  years ;  but 
to-night  I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Jule — if  you'll  let 
me,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  almost  of  deference. 

Julian  was  on  the  point  of  answering  with  an  im 
patient  "  Fire  away,"  but  his  father's  gentleness  dis 
armed  him. 

"This  affair  with  Crampton  has  knocked  me  up 
badly,"  he  said,  4t  and  I  am  afraid  I  sha'n't  have  the 
attention  to  give  you  that  you'll  want." 

44  Never  mind.  I'll  take  my  chances.  It  may  be  a 
long  time  before  I  shall  feel  like  talking  again." 


20         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

The  young  man  carefully  selected  a  cigar  after 
having  smelled  and  rejected  several,  struck  a  match, 
and  with  long,  deliberative  puffs,  lighted  the  weed. 
His  father  sat  looking  at  him  with  a  slow  bewilder- 
ment,  and  apparently  forgot  what  he  was  going  to 
say. 

"  Jule,"  he  began,  after  along  pause,  "don't  you 
think  it's  about  time  for  you  to  get  married  ?  " 

The  question  was  so  startling  that  Julian  had  to 
turn  about  and  scrutinize  the  old  man's  face  to  ascer 
tain  in  what  spirit  he  expected  to  be  answered.  Half 
a  glance  convinced  him  that  there  was  not  a  shadow 
'of  flippancy  in  the  query. 

"  I  haven't  thought  of  it,"  he  answered,  curtly. 

"Then  it  is  time  you  should  think  of  it,  Jule; 
you've  passed  your  thirtieth  year,  and  the  longer  a  man 
waits  after  thirty,  the  harder  it  gets." 

"  It  is  no  use  talking,  governor ;  I'm  already  too 
far  past." 

"  Oh,  stuff !  you  are  two  months  over  thirty." 

"  That's  two  months  too  much." 

*'  Don't  talk  twaddle  to  me.  I  say,  it  is  time  you 
should  marry." 

"  I  don't  know  any  woman  I  wish  so  ill  as  to  make 
her  my  wife." 

"  I  have  ,no  patience  with  that  sort  of  talk,  Jule. 
You  are  a  nice-looking  fellow;  you  have  plenty  of 
money,  or  will  have ;  you  have  education  and  a  fairly 
good  temper.  What  more  can  a  girl  demand  ?  " 

There  was  something  here  which  could  not  be  dis 
cussed,  and  both  Julian  and  his  father  felt  it.  They 
both  had  that  American  modesty  which  makes  confi 
dence  in  that  chapter  impossible.  An  awkward  silence 


. 


VANITY  OF  VANITIES.  21 

fell  upon  them,  until  the  old  man  with  sudden  reso 
lution  straightened  himself  up  and  said : 

"  You  have  been  a  little  wild,  Jule.  I  know  that 
But  that's  no  reason  why  you  should  vow  celibacy. 
We  all  have  much  to  answer  for  in  that  line,  when  it 
comes  to  that." 

Julian  smoked  on  nervously  for  some  minutes, 
and  finally,  blowing  a  couple  of  rings  toward  the  ceil 
ing,  remarked : 

44  You  evidently  have  a  candidate,  governor.  "Who 
is  she?" 

41  No,  I  haven't.    Any  nice,  decent  girl  will  do,  as 
far  as  I  am  concerned.     I  ain't  hard  to  suit." 
44  Have  you,  perhaps,  a  suggestion  to  offer?" 
44  Well,  since  you  ask  me,  there  is  your  cousin  Delia 
Saunders,  my  sister  Jane's  daughter.     She's  a  likely 
girl  and  thunderin'  smart.     You  know  she's  coming 
on  a  visit  here  next  week." 

Julian  gave  a  grunt  which  was  almost  a  groan. 
44  No,  thanks,  governor ;  your  taste  is  too  catholic," 
he  muttered  through  a  cloud  of  smoke. 

44  Well,  I  ain't  particular.  I  haven't  set  my  heart 
on  Delia.  Only  one  thing  is  sure,  I  want  you  to  marry 
and  settle  down  and  be  done  with  all  tomfooleries.  I 
want  you  to  step  into  my  shoes,  go  to  Congress  and 
take  a  hand  in  the  affairs  of  the  nation.  You  are  a 
darned  sight  smarter  than  most  of  the  nincompoops 
that  get  into  public  life  nowadays,  and  there  is  no 
reason  why  you  should'nt  make  a  distinguished  career 
for  yourself,  as  soon  as  you  make  up  your  mind  to  be 
done  with  folly  and  apply  yourself  to  business." 

44  And  as  a  preliminary  step  you  want  me  to  marry." 
"Precisely." 


22          THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  But,  governor,  I'd  rather  do  anything  than  that, 
just  now." 

"  Oh,  pshaw  1  It's  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world 
— for  a  man  with  your  advantages.  As  Lincoln  said, 
only  be  sure  you  are  right,  and  then  go  ahead.  When 
I  met  your  mother  thirty  odd  years  ago,  I  was  sure  I 
was  right,  and  in  three  weeks  we  were  married." 

"  That  was  in  the  happy  Arcadian  days,  when  the 
world  was  younger  and  more  reckless.  But,  even  if 
you  do  feel  that  certainty  of  being  right  in  your  choice, 
the  great  danger  is  that  your  conviction  may  be  shaken 
by  post-matrimonial  developments." 

"  Well,  that's  the  risk  every  man  has  got  to  take ; 
and  he  ain't  much  of  a  man  if  he's  afraid  to  take  it," 
cried  the  Honorable  Abiel,  slapping  the  table  with  his 
broad,  stubby  hand.  His  son,  being  disinclined  to 
argue  the  matter  further,  accepted  the  implied  re 
buke,  and  lapsed  into  a  dreary  reverie.  The  old  man 
sat  for  a  while  gazing  at  his  handsome  apathetic 
features  with  a  doubting,  anxious  expression,  and  it 
was  plainly  to  be  seen  that  his  thoughts  were  not 
cheerful. 

"Tell  me  this,  Jule,"  he  began  at  last,  with  a 
huskiness  which  he  vainly  strove  to  get  rid  of ;  "  if  I 
get  you  a  nomination,  will  you  go  to  Congress?" 

"  But  how  am  I  to  get  a  nomination,  governor,  who 
have  not  busied  myself  for  an  hour  with  politics,  and 
who  haven't  an  opinion  worthy  of  serious  consideration 
on  any  public  question  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  leave  that  to  me.  The  Honorable  Percy 
Montford  had  no  more  valuable  opinions  than  you 
have  when  he  first  went  to  Congress,  but  he  has  made 
a  first-rate  Congressman,  and  to-day  he  is  a  national 


VANITY  OP  VANITIES.  23 

character.    As  for  the  nomination,  you  just  leave  that 
to  me." 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  mean  to  buy  it?w 

"  I  mean  to  get  it— that's  all." 

"For  how  much?" 

"  That  don't  concern  you.  All  I  want  to  know  ifl 
this— Will  you  accept?" 

Julian  got  up  once  more,  and  began  to  pace  the 
floor.  The  old  man  again  watched  him  anxiously. 

"  Jule,"  he  said,  with  great  gentleness,  u  what  have 
you  to  show  for  the  thirty  years  you  have  passed  in 
the  world  ?  I  don't  mean  the  question  harshly ;  but, 
if  you  don't  mind,  I  should  like  to  have  you  answer 
it" 

"  Nothing,  governor ;  worse  than  nothing." 

"And  would  you  be  willing  to  employ  the  next 
thirty  years,  provided  they  are  yours,  in  the— same 
line  of  business  ?  " 

"  Don't  crowd  me,  governor.  Don't  use  your  ad 
vantage  ungenerously." 

"  I  had  no  idea  I  was  doing  it,  Jule.  But  if  you 
can't  answer  me  to-night,  I  can  wait  until  to-morrow." 

"  All  right    I'll  try  to  answer  you  to-morrow." 

The  Honorable  Abiel  Burroughs  rose  with  the  same 
caution  with  which  he  had  sat  down,  and,  taking  his 
son's  hand,  said : 

"Good-night,  Jule,  I  don't  mean  to  brag,  but 
when  I  was  your  age  I  had  been  district  attorney,  I 
had  been  two  years  in  Congress,  and  was  a  member  of 
the  Committee  of  Ways  and  Means." 

44  Yes,  governor.  But  there  was  bettor  stufl  in  you 
than  there  is  in  me," 

44 1  don't  know  about  that    I  hadn't  half  the  book- 


24:         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

learning  that  you  have.  I  was  as  poor  as  a  church  rat 
when  I  started  in  the  law." 

"  That's  just  it  You  had  everything  to  win,  and 
you  won  it ;  I  have  nothing,  because  you  have  won 
everything  for  me." 

u  No,  Jule,  no.  But  we  won't  talk  any  more  about 
it  now.  Good-night" 

"  Good-night,  governor." 


CHAPTER  II. 

A   MOMENTOUS   DECISION. 

THE  Honorable  Abiel  Burroughs  had  made  his  great 
fortune  in  the  West,  but,  like  so  many  of  his  fellow- 
millionaires,  preferred  to  spend  it  in  the  East.  After 
his  return  from  Europe  he  had,  out  of  regard  for  hia 
son,  given  up  his  expectation  of  further  political  ad 
vancement,  had  built  a  big,  gorgeous  house  in  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  had  settled  down  reluctantly  to  the  en 
joyment  of  his  riches.  He  had  to  school  himself  be 
fore  attaining  any  sort  of  success  in  this  laborious 
task ;  for  as  he  had  never  previous  to  his  European 
experience  had  any  leisure,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  know 
how  to  employ  the  abundance  of  it  which  he  now  had 
on  his  hands.  Club  life  ho  did  not  care  for,  and  for 
reading  he  had  no  taste.  Personal  gossip,  unless  it 
related  to  public  men  and  might  affect  appointments, 
wearied  him.  At  the  opera  he  rarely  succeeded  in 
keeping  awake.  In  the  drama,  which  he  occasionally 
patronized,  he  had  decided  but  erratic  tastes.  Harri- 


A  MOMENTOUS  DECISION.  25 

gan  and  Hart's  performances  represented  his  ideal  of 
light  comedy,  and  he  rarely  missed  their  opening  nights. 
But  the  climax  of  dramatic  excellence  he  found  in  a 
play  called  "  The  Old  Homestead."  He  had  the  cour 
age  of  his  sentiments,  and  never  shrank  from  avowing 
them.  Of  Europe  and  Europeans  he  had  the  most 
contemptuous  opinion,  and  quoted  freely  from  his 
court  experience  to  justify  his  scorn.  He  had  a  dozen 
standing  anecdotes  which  he  related  with  much  gusto 
to  his  poker  club,  which  met  every  Thursday  evening 
at  his  house. 

44  The  king,"  he  said,  "  he  was  a  nice  enough  fel 
low,  and  not  a  bit  stuck  up.  He  was  as  easy  to  talk  to 
as  if  he  had  been  an  American.  I  didn't  always  un 
derstand  what  he  said,  for  his  English  was  rather 
queer ;  but  that  made  no  difference,  for  he  never  said 
anything  of  any  consequence.  '  'Ow  do  you  do,  Mees- 
tare  Burroughs  ?  I  am  vary  glat  to  see  you?  he  would 
say,  as  he  shook  my  hand.  *  I  hop  you  have  good 
news  of  ze  President  of  ze  United  Stats.'  I  naturally 
replied  that  the  President  was  very  well,  and  recipro 
cated  his  Majesty's  kindly  feeling.  *  I  am  vary  glat, 
Meestare  Burroughs,  to  hear  that  ze  President  is  in 
good  healt,  and  I  hop  I  find  you  in  ze  same,  Meestare 
Burroughs.'  I  thanked  him,  of  course,  and  told  him 
I  was  in  tip-top  condition.  Then  he  grinned  at  me, 
told  me  he  was  *  vary  glat  to  hear  it,'  shook  my  paw, 
and  went  to  say  exactly  the  same  thing,  with  only  the 
names  changed,  to  somebody  else.  Presently  the  crown- 
prince  would  come  along,  all  wreathed  in  smiles  and 
gold  lace,  and  say:  4'0w  do  you  do,  Meestare  Bur 
roughs?  I  am  vary  glat  to  see  yon.  I  bop  you  'ave 
good  news  of  ze  President  of  ze  United  Stats.'  I 


26         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

would  go  through  with  the  same  ceremony  once  more, 
whereupon  the  crown-prince  would  assure  me  that  he 
was  'vary  glat  to  hear  it,'  and  slide  oft  to  some  other 
plenipotentiary,  in  whose  health  and  that  of  his  sover 
eign  he  would  express  the  same  amiable  interest.  No 
sooner  had  he  turned  his  back  on  me  than  Prince 
John,  the  king's  uncle,  would  come  sailing  along,  grab 
my  hand  as  if  I  were  his  long  lost  brother,  and  repeat 
the  same  inquiries  in  French,  of  which  I  didn't  un 
derstand  a  word;  and  we  would  stand  bowing  and 
scraping  and  grinning  at  each  other  like  two  amiable 
Cheshire  cats,  I  repeating  his  last  word  with  a  question- 
mark  after  it,  and  he  repeating  my  last  in  the  same 
tone.  When  I  had  Jule  along  with  me  I  got  along 
first-rate,  for  he  could  jabber  French  as  good  as  any 
prince,  but  when  I  was  alone,  as  often  happened,  I 
never  got  beyond  *  'Ow  do  you  do?'  and  'ze  healt  of  ze 
President  of  ze  United  Stats.' " 

This  anecdote  and  others  of  the  same  kind  were 
popular  in  the  poker  club,  for  Mr.  Burroughs  was  a 
very  good  mimic,  and  related  his  stories  with  a  bur 
lesque  exaggeration  which  called  forth  roars  of  laugh 
ter.  He  enjoyed  a  good  story  himself,  and  enjoyed 
telling  one.  But,  like  most  good  story-tellers,  he  was 
apt  to  inflict  the  same  anecdote  repeatedly  on  the  same 
audience,  relating  it  every  time  with  undiminished 
gusto,  without  a  suspicion  that  it  had  long  since  lost 
its  novelty.  It  was  remarked  by  many  that  in  the 
presence  of  his  son  he  was  never  funny. 

That  the  young  man,  without  any  intention  on  his 
part,  imposed  a  certain  restraint  upon  him  was  scarcely 
to  be  denied.  He  had  a  great  respect  for  Julian  in 
one  way,  though  he  was  far  from  approving  of  his 


A  MOMENTOUS  DECISION.  2f 

manner  of  life.    The  fact  that  he  spoke  French,  an 
accomplishment  which  Mr.  Burroughs  professed  to  re 
gard  as  unpatriotic  and  ridiculous,  and  dressed  in  a 
style  which  seemed  at  variance  with  the  Constitution, 
extorted  from  his  sire  a  reluctant  admiration  which 
sometimes  bordered  upon  awe.     Julian  seemed  to  be 
long  to  a  different  species,  and  though  it  was,  abstractly 
speaking,  a  ridiculous  and  un-American  species,  Julian 
was,  somehow,  neither  ridiculous  nor  un-American. 
He  squandered  money  in  the  manner  of  a  man  who  has 
never  known  the  trouble  of  making  it.    He  patronized 
the  drama — both  the  legitimate  and  the  illegitimate — 
and  gave  suppers  to  the  sylphs  of  the  ballet    He  drew 
the  most  startling  checks  which  his  governor  had  to 
honor,  with  an  admirable  sang  froid,  and  never  so 
much  as  apologized  for  his  extravagance.    He  did  a 
number  of  other  things  which  he  ought  not  to  have 
done,  and  left  undone  a  variety  of  things  which  he 
ought  to  have  done ;  but  he  preserved  through  all  his 
misbehavior  a  certain  beautiful  dignity  and  outward 
propriety  which  made  one  inclined  to  discredit  the 
rumors  that  circulated  about  his  relations  to  one  of  tho 
ten  commandments.    He  was  altogether  so  attractive 
a  personality  that  every  one  who  knew  him  found  it 
difficult  to  believe  ill  of  him ;  and  his  father,  who  was 
indulgent  toward  youthful  folly,  had  always  been  dis 
posed  to  put  the  best  construction  upon  his  pecca 
dilloes.    But  he  had  to  draw  the  line  somewhere,  and 
he  drew  it,  perhaps  a  little  arbitrarily,  at  the  end  of 
youth,  or  that  degree  of  youth  to  which  folly  was  al 
lowable.    He  demanded  now  the  definite  closing  of 
the  first  act  and  the  raising  of  the  curtain  upon  an 
entirely  new  scene,  at  tho  opening  of  the  second. 


28         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

Old  Mr.  Burroughs  waited  impatiently  at  luncheon 
(the  day  after  the  interview  recorded  in  the  last  chap 
ter)  for  his  son's  appearance.  His  widowed  sister, 
Mrs.  Whitecomb,  who  presided  over  his  household, 
had  to  bear  the  brunt  of  his  ill-humor,  but  she  was 
a  large  and  genial  woman,  and  a  little  bit  obtuse, 
and  could  endure  a  good  deal  without  any  ruffling  of 
temper.  She  was,  moreover,  so  proud  of  her  brother 
that  she  felt  complimented  even  at  being  scolded  by 
him.  She  was  intensely  conscious  of  his  wealth,  dis 
tinction,  and  national  fame,  and  bragged  of  him  in  a 
guileless  way  to  her  acquaintances.  Her  nephew,  who 
was  given  to  being  sarcastic  with  her,  she  could  not 
quite  make  out,  but  admired  him  immensely.  She 
spoke  of  him  with  bated  breath,  as  of  some  higher 
order  of  creature,  whose  ways  were  exalted  above  her 
comprehension  and  criticism.  She  knew  in  a  vague 
way  his  reputation,  but  it  made  no  difference  with  her, 
and  in  no  wise  affected  her  treatment  of  him.  She 
was  in  a  state  of  general  bewilderment  as  to  metropoli 
tan  ways  and  manners,  and  had  never  quite  found  her 
footing  in  this  Babylonic  confusion.  She  had  had 
very  decided  opinions  in  Indiana;  but  as,  somehow, 
they  did  not  apply  to  New  York,  she  had  given  up  the 
habit  of  judging.  She  lacked  both  the  energy  and 
the  ability  at  her  age  to  readjust  her  mental  lens  of 
vision  to  new  conditions,  and  she  floated  with  her  be 
wildered  smile  through  New  York  society,  without 
finding  lodgment  or  acquiring  any  definable  place  in 
it.  She  was  the  Honorable  Abiel  Burroughs's  sister— 
that  was  all.  And  the  Honorable  Abiel  was,  as  far  aa 
society  was  concerned,  only  the  father  of  Julian  Bur 
roughs.  He  was  known  to  exist,  but  was  rarely  seen. 


A  MOMENTOUS  DECISION.  29 

His  existence  was  inferred  from  the  house  in  the  Avenue 
and  his  son's  extravagance.  Though  he  sat  occasion 
ally  on  public  platforms  and  contributed  liberally  to 
popular  charities,  the  metropolis  was  not  half  as 
much  interested  in  him  as  in  his  son ;  and  ex-minister 
though  he  was,  the  newspapers  took  far  less  account  of 
him  than  of  the  handsome  young  man  who  bore  his 
name,  and  whose  chief  distinction  consisted  in  his 
capacity  to  spend. 

It  may  have  been  because  the  Honorable  Abiel  felt  a 
little  uneasy  in  his  obscurity  that  he  had  begun  of  late 
to  resume  his  interrupted  connection  with  politics.  He 
saw  plainly  that  there  was  no  political  future  for  a  Re 
publican  in  New  York,  unless  he  happened  to  get  a 
national  appointment ;  and  he  squirmed  a  good  deal 
at  the  thought  of  severing  his  connection  with  a  party 
which  had  conferred  such  great  honors  upon  him.  He 
who  had  known  Lincoln  and  Chase  and  Seward,  and 
who  was  a  repository  of  anecdotes  concerning  those  de 
parted  chieftains,  how  could  he  make  common  cause 
with  copperheads  and  Tammany  and  the  rebel  briga 
diers?  Mr.  Burroughs,  after  a  great  deal  of  anxious 
reflection,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  his  turning 
Mugwump  was  out  of  the  question.  But  Julian,  who 
had  no  traditions  to  trouble  him,  could  scarcely  be 
reproached  for  choosing  his  party  with  a  view  to  his. 
own  advantage.  He  could  scarcely  be  bound  by  his 
father's  antecedents.  The  important  thing  was  for 
him  to  get  to  Washington,  not  by  the  slow  and  labori 
ous  by-way  of  Albany,  but  by  the  straight  road  of  a 
congressional  nomination.  The  old  gentlemen  had, 
by  a  shrewd  and  roundabout  manoeuvre,  obtained  the 
assurance  from  the  leader  of  Tammany  Hall  that  for 


30         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE, 

sixty  thousand  dollars,  paid  ostensibly  for  campaign 
expenses,  the  nomination  -was  at  his  disposal.  He 
could  see  no  moral  objection  to  accepting  this  offer,  at 
the  same  time  as  he  was  personally  identified  with  the 
Republican  organization  and  lending  his  respectable 
name  to  cloak  infamous  deals  and  trades  and  cor 
ruption  of  voters,  Whatever  his  party  did  was  (if 
not  laudable)  at  least  defensible ;  and  after  each  elec 
tion  he  was  ready  to  put  his  signature  to  documents 
whitewashing  the  unblushing  tricksters  who  profess 
to  represent  the  Grand  Old  Party  in  the  metropolis. 
No  man  who  cherished  a  lurking  ambition  under  his 
waistcoat  could  afford  to  be  overscrupulous,  Burroughs 
reasoned ;  and  he  found  even  a  certain  satisfaction  in 
exhibiting  a  broad,  pachydermatous  front  toward  those 
obnoxious  persons  who  took  him  to  task  for  his  in 
dorsement  of  rascality.  He  had  after  each  such  attack 
an  agreeable  sense  of  solidarity  with  his  party,  and  a 
revived  hope  of  being  called  to  the  front  in  some  con 
spicuous  capacity. 

When  ho  had  waited  for  his  son  as  long  as  his 
dignity  permitted,  Mr.  Burroughs  ordered  luncheon 
and  seated  himself  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table  with 
Mrs,  Whitcomb  vis-d-vis.  It  was  a  largo,  handsome 
apartment  in  which  they  were  sitting,  with  extremely 
elaborate  ornamentation  of  carved  oak  and  stamped- 
leather  hangings,  all  of  a  richly  subdued  tone.  There 
were  no  pictures,  but  each  panel  exhibited  an  exquis 
itely  carved  game-piece,  and  the  open  doors  to  the 
conservatory  revealed  a  vista  of  spreading  palms,  gor 
geously  blooming  cacti,  and  dancing  fountains. 

"  Maria,"  eaid  tho  master  of  the  house,  as  ho  noisily 
tasted  his  soup,  "  this  soup  is  too  hot  You  know  I 


A  MOMENTOUS  DECISION.  31 

can't  stand  having  my  stomach  burned  up  with  theso 
d spices," 

44  You  know,  Abiel,"  replied  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  ami 
ably,  44  that  it's  no  good  talking  to  this  new  cook.  He's 
so  high  and  mighty  that  I  am  afraid  of  him.  He 
laughs  in  my  faco  whenever  I  venture  to  make  a  sug 
gestion." 

44  Kick  him  out,  then.  I  don't  care  a  rap  for  his 
patties  and  salads  and  oily  abominations." 

44  But  you  know  Jule  cares  for  them,  Abiel." 

44  Well,  what  if  he  does.  Is  it  Jule  who  runs  this 
house,  I  should  like  to  know,  or  is  it  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Whitcomb  was  not  equal  to  answering  this 
conundrum,  but  pushed  her  soup-plate  quietly  aside 
and  beckoned  to  the  butler. 

44 1  want  you  to  go  out,  Maria,  and  kick  that 
Frenchman  down-stairs  for  me  this  very  minute.  I 
won't  tolerate  such  an  impudent  cuss  in  my  house, 
and  I  want  you  to  engage  a  plain,  substantial  cook  who 
knows  the  American  style  of  cookery." 

44  But,  Abiel,"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  with 
imperturbable  affability, 44  aren't  you  rather  unreason 
able?  How  can  I  kick  a  man  down-stairs,  and  espe 
cially  a  Frenchman  ?  " 

44  Oh,  these  Frenchmen — there's  no  grit  in  them — 
no  starch.  They  collapse  like  a  balloon  the  moment 
you  prick  them.  You  just  get  regular  hopping  mad, 
Maria,  and,  you'll  see,  hell  come  to  terms.  There's  no 
use  standing  and  grinning  at  him  good-naturedly  as 
you  do.  You  must  get  mad,  I  tell  you,  Maria,  regular 
crackling  mad.w 

It  was  difficult  to  imagine  the  bland  and  suave 
Mrs.  Whitcorab4*  crackling  mad,"  and  she  evidently 


82         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

herself  found  her  brother's  proposition  puzzling.  She 
was,  however,  relieved  from  answering  by  the  entrance 
of  her  nophow.  Julian  took  his  seat  quietly  at  tho 
table,  called  for  a  bottle  of  claret,  and  fell  to  eating; 
while  his  father  sat  with  his  shaggy  brows  knitted, 
gazing  intently  at  him. 

"Well,  Jule,"  he  said  at  last,  "have  you  made 
up  your  mind  about  tho  matter  we  talked  about  last 
night?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  what  is  your  decision  ?  " 

The  old  man's  voice  almost  trembled  as  he  asked 
the  question,  and  there  was  a  tense,  strained  look  in 
his  eyes,  which  betrayed  his  agitation. 

"  I  have  decided  to  yield  to  your  wMics,"  tho  son 
replied,  putting  down  his  glass  of  claret  and  wiping  his 
mustache  with  his  napkin.  The  Honorable  Abiel 
cleared  his  throat  noisily  and  blew  his  nose.  Then, 
with  a  visible  sense  of  relief,  he  attacked  his  beefsteak, 
which  wus  ouo  of  tho  few  tilings  his  French  chef  could 
not  spoil  for  him. 

"  Jule,"  he  observed  after  a  considerable  pause.  "  I 
am  glad  you  have  taken  my  advice  in  this  matter. 
You  may  have  to  do  some  mighty  nasty  things,  though, 
before  you  get  through  with  this  business ;  but  I  hope 
you  are  equal  to  thorn." 

"  What  do  you  refer  to  ?  "  asked  Julian,  putting 
down  his  knife  and  fork. 

"  Well,  you  know,  in  the  first  place,  you'll  have 
to  be  a  Democrat,  and  that,  you  know,  is  pretty 
nasty." 

"  Oh,  yes;  but  scarcely  any  nastier  than  being  a 
Republican." 


A  MOMENTOUS  DECISION.  33 

"  Good  for  you,  Jule,"  cried  the  old  man,  with  a 
most  unexpected  laugh.  "  I  like  to  see  you  stick  up 
for  your  party." 

44  It  was  rather  a  mild  way  of  sticking  up  for  it," 
remarked  Julian. 

44  Well,  mild  or  strong,  I   like  it.     But  that  was 
not  what  I  had  in  mind.    You  have  got  to  go  down  to 
the  convention  next  week  and  make  a  speech  accepting 
the  nomination.    You  have  got  to  put  in  something 
about  Jeftersonian  simplicity,  and  you've  got  to  go  for 
the  Republicans.     Point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  the  scan 
dals  during  Grant's  administration — Belknap,  Robe- 
son,  Babcock,  and  all  the  rest  of  them ;  haul  us  over 
the  coals   for   overtaxation,  centralization,  favoring 
monopolies,  tendency  to  Ceesarism,  and  anything  else 
you  can  think  of.    If  you  like,  I'll  write  the  speech 
for  you ;  for,  to  be  frank,  Jule,  I  should  bo  afraid  of 
your  putting  your  foot  in  it.    Y"ou  know  I  am  an  old 
hand  at  that  sort  of  composition.    I  know  to  a  T  just 
where  the  applause  will  come  in,  and  I  know  just  how 
to  tickle  an  American  audience.    If  they  are  Demo 
crats,  Thomas  Jefferson  "will  fetch  them  every  time, 
and  Samuel  J.  Tilden — be  sure  you  bring  in  his  full 
name,  with  a  stop  for  applause  after  each — and  Horatio 
Seymour  and  all  the  other  venerable  mossbacks.   Then, 
111  give  you  another  first-rate  idea.    Find  out  what 
kind  of  flattery  will  be  most  agreeable  to  your  audi 
ence.    If  they  have  no  virtues  at  all,  or  achievements 
that  you  can  detect,  praise  their  sense  of  fair  play — 
which,  by  the  way,  they  have  none  of — and,  above  all, 
their  sturdy  American  common  sense;  make  them 
feel  in  their  ignorance  their  superiority  to  those  pre 
posterous  persons  who  have  gone  through  college  on 


3±         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

been  abroad  or  in  any  way  forfeited  their  birthright 
as  plain  American  citizens." 

"  But  then  I  shall  be  casting  discredit  npon  myself, 
governor." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  that.  They  won't  hunt  up  your 
record,  and  if  the  Republican  papers  attack  you  as  a 
college  man  and  an  aristocrat;  it'll  rather  strengthen 
you." 

"  But,  governor,  that's  a  deuced  bad  business." 

A  shade  of  anxiety  passed  over  the  Honorable 
Abiel's  face,  as  he  perceived  the  tone  of  disgust  in  his 
son's  voice. 

"Why,  Jule,"  he  cried,  "  you  have  given  me  your 
word ;  and  I  tell  you  if  you  take  a  hand  in  this  thing, 
as  you've  promised,  you've  got  to  go  the  whole  hog." 

The  young  man  ate  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence, 
drank  another  glass  of  claret,  and  finally  inquired : 

"  Is  there  anything  else  ?  " 

4'  Then  you  stand  by  your  promise  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  And  you'll  allow  me  to  write  your  speech  for  you  ? 
If  there  is  anything  you  can't  quite  go,  then  you  may 
strike  it  out." 

"  I  prefei  to  write  it  myself." 

"  Will  you  let  me  see  it  before  you  deliver  it  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  And  remember  this.  Go  for  Grant  with  all  your 
steam;  pitch  into  the  Electoral  Commission,  the  fraud 
of  '76,  and  all  the  rest  of  it  But  don't  say  anything 
about  Lincoln,  for  he's  canonized,  you  know — unless 
you  try  to  make  out  that  he  was  really  a  Democrat." 

Mr.  Burroughs  laughed  uproariously  at  this  joke, 
and  Mrs.  Whitcomb  smiled  feebly ;  but  Julian  remained 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  HEATHEN.  35 

unresponsive.  Whether  it  was  the  responsibility  of 
his  new  career  which  impressed  him  or  his  mere  dis 
inclination  to  leave  the  old,  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
far  from  happy.  His  father  suspected  that  there  was 
something  under  it  all,  but  Jule  was  such  a  curious, 
taciturn,  and  self-sufficient  creature  that  he  would  have 
been  afraid  to  suo  for  his  confidence. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   BEAUTIFUL  HEATHEN. 

As  Julian  and  his  father  were  about  to  rise  from 
the  luncheon-table,  a  noiseless  servant  entered  and 
announced  Miss  Cordelia  Saunders,  The  lady  in 
question,  however,  made  this  ceremony  superfluous,  for 
she  followed  close  on  the  heels  of  her  announcer, 
drowning  his  respectful  voice  by  the  demonstrattvenesa 
of  her  greeting. 

"  Why,  how  are  you,  Aunt  Maria,"  she  cried,  em 
bracing  and  kissing  the  bewildered  Mrs,  Whitcomb ; 
"  and  you,  Uncle  Abiel,  I  hardly  suppose  you  recog-« 
nize  me,  do  you?  And  Cousin  Jule,  hell  repudiate 
me  up  and  down;  I  know  that  from  his  looks  and 
reputation."  • 

She  shook  hands  with  each  person  as  she  addressed 
him  and  beamed  a  frank,  girlish  smile  with  a  kind  of 
knock-down  directness  straight  into  his  face.  She 
was  a  tall,  handsome  girl,  and  remarkably  well  made ; 
but  there  was  something prononct,  almost  overwhelm 
ing  in  her  manner,  and  her  voice,  though  agreeable 


86         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

in  quality,  was  a  trifle  loud,  and  her  articulation  slov 
enly.  Her  brisk  and  rather  masculine  stride  made 
Julian  shrink  back  as  she  approached  him;  and  he 
noted,  not  with  unmixed  approval,  the  unabashed 
stare  in  her  light-blue  eyes  and  the  free  and  easy  man 
ner  in  which  she  moved  her  attractive  blonde  head. 
He  could  scarcely  be  mistaken  in  detecting  an  air 
of  defiance  in  the  erectness  of  her  bearing.  She  im 
pressed  him  as  a  personification  of  the  Declaration 
of  Independence.  Even  the  loose  lock  of  crimped  hair 
which  had  escaped  from  its  confinement  and  curled 
about  her  ear  seemed  bent  upon  asserting  its  freedom. 
She  wore  a  brown  spring  ulster,  buttoned  with  enor 
mous  bronze  buttons,  representing  owls'  heads,  and  a 
rakish-looking  soft  hat,  set  askew,  trimmed  with  an 
audacious  bunch  of  feathers.  In  her  hand  she  carried 
a  dainty  umbrella  which  she  swung  like  a  walking- 
stick. 

Such  was  the  startling  phenomenon  which  obtruded 
itself  upon  Julian's  vision.  This  was  the  long-expected 
Indiana  cousin  whom  his  father  had  proposed  as  the 
companion  of  his  life.  He  put  a  very  emphatic  veto  on 
the  latter  proposition  once  more,  but  resolved,  with 
a  conscientious  effort,  to  make  himself  as  agreeable  to 
the  young  lady  as  his  temperament  and  circumstances 
would  permit.  It  was  eight  years  since  he  had  seen 
Delia  Saunders,  and  he  had  a  recollection  of  her  as  an 
awkward,  long-limbed,  half-grown  girl,  resembling  a 
half-fledged  fowl  which  is  constantly  cackling  and 
scratching  and  kicking  up  dust  without  the  least  prov 
ocation.  He  conceded  now  that  she  had  undergone 
a  not  unpleasant  transformation,  as  far  as  her  exterior 
was  concerned,  but  the  bristling  energy  and  self-asser- 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  HEATHEN.       .  37 

tion  were  still  obnoxiously  prominent ;  and  something 
glaring,  undisguised,  and  unsubdued  in  her  voice  and 
demeanor  lessened,  to  his  mind,  even  the  attractiveness 
of  her  beauty.  She  had  by  her  demonstrative  greeting 
deprived  him,  as  it  were,  of  his  character  of  host,  and 
almost  embarrassed  him,  and,  what  was  worse,  she  was 
apparently  aware  that  she  was  shocking  him,  and  found 
amusement  in  it 

"  Well,  Cousin  Jule,"  she  continued,  as  she  divested 
herself  of  her  wraps  and  at  Mrs.  Whitcomb's  invita 
tion  took  her  seat  at  the  table,  "  what  a  howling  swell 
you  have  grown,  to  be  sure.  Do  you  remember  the 
time  you  pulled  my  hair  because  I  told  Uncle  Abiel 
that  you  smoked  ?  Now,  don't  say  that  you'd  like  to 
do  it  again.  I  am  not  so  manageable  now,  Cousin 
Jule,  as  I  was  then." 

"  If  my  memory  is  not  at  fault,  you  were  far  from 
being  manageable  at  the  time  to  which  you  refer," 
Julian  replied,  with  a  lofty  little  smile  of  politeness ; 
"  I  believe  you  generally  got  the  better  of  me  in  our 
past  encounters." 

"  Ah,  you  remember  that  ?  Well,  I  am  glad  you 
do ;  for  I  am  bound  to  get  the  better  of  you  again, 
Cousin  Jule.  I  assure  you,  I  am  an  awful  girl,  posi 
tively  awful.  I  always  have  my  own  way,  don't  I, 
Aunt  Maria?" 

Mrs.  Whitcomb,  who  was  dumfounded  at  the  glib 
audacity  of  her  speech,  nodded  vaguely,  and  wondered 
how  long  the  Grand  Mogul  would  tolerate  such  uncer 
emonious  treatment  She  looked  anxiously  at  him, 
but  could  detect  no  sign  either  of  pleasure  or  displeas 
ure.  His  face  expressed  only  the  conventional  anima 
tion  which  politeness  prescribes.  He  stood  with  bis 


33         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

back  to  the  empty  fire-place,  bending  his  smiling  gaze 
upon  the  vivacious  young  lady,  and  giving  the  most 
flattering  attention  to  her  conversation. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  not  coine  in  conflict,"  he  said,  in 
response  to  her  last  remark.  "  If  such  a  misfortune 
were  to  happen,  I  fear  you  would  get  the  better  of  me 
again,  as  you  say.  I  should  ignominiously  surrender," 

"  Now,  Cousin  Jule,"  cried  Miss  Delia,  with  a  good- 
humored  laugh,  "  you  don't  think  I  am  bright  enough 
to  see  that  you  are  making  fun  of  me ;  but  you  just 
wait  until  I  have  rested  from  the  journey  and  got  my 
wits  in  repair,  and  Til  pay  you  back  for  that." 

"  I  hope  you'll  have  pity  on  my  defenseless  state," 
he  answered,  stroking  his  peaked  beard.  "  In  tilts  of 
wit  I  am  always  at  a  disadvantage,  particularly  with 
ladies." 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  sly  one,  you  are  !  "  Miss  Delia  ex 
claimed,  sending  him  a  gay,  challenging  glance ;  "  I 
have  got  to  have  it  out  with  you,  sooner  or  later." 

"  Later — by  all  means,  let  it  be  later ! "  he  ejacu 
lated,  in  mock  alarm. 

She  laughed  again  with  real  amusement,  and  began 
to  rummage  with  both  her  hands  in  her  hair.  Some 
thing  or  other  was  wrong,  it  appeared ;  and  quite  sans 
cMmonie  she  pulled  out  two  or  three  hair-pins  and 
put  them  in  again,  looking  all  the  while  at  Julian  with 
smiling  defiance. 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  take  your  son  in  hand  and 
discipline  him  a  little,  Uncle  Abiel,"  she  said,  turning 
her  bright,  saucy  face  to  the  old  gentleman;  "he's 
sadly  in  need  of  training." 

"  Well,  you'll  have  a  job  on  your  hands — that's  all 
I  can  say,"  the  ex-minister  replied. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  HEATHEN.       39 

44 1  am  equal  to  it,  uncle.  I'd  put  him  through  his 
paces,  I  tell  you.  You  know  I'm  a  famous  man-tamer. 
Oh,  at  Oberlin  I  had  such  fun !  I  could  make  the  fel 
lows  do  just  as  I  liked.  I  only  cracked  my  whip,  and 
they  all  danced." 

"I  thought  dancing  was  forbidden  at  Oberlin," 
Mrs.  Whitcomb  observed,  timidly. 

"  Not  dancing  to  the  music  of  a  whip — that  is  not 
forbidden." 

When  Miss  Saunders  had  finished  her  luncheon, 
Mrs.  Whitcomb  summoned  a  maid,  who  gathered  the 
lady's  wraps  together  and  conducted  her  to  a  beauti 
ful  apartment,  upholstered  in  pink,  on  the  third  floor. 
The  tables  and  chairs  were  of  graceful  and  dainty 
shapes,  and  enameled  in  white  and  gold.    From  the 
windows  there  was  a  fine  view  of  the  park,  with  a 
smoky,  autumnal  vista  up  toward  Harlem  and  North 
River.    The  Fifth  Avenue  stages  which  rumbled  over 
the  pavement  below,  the  elevated-railroad  structure, 
with  trains  rushing  in  different  directions,  which  was 
visible  beyond  the  trees  of  the  park,  and  the  hoarse 
shrieks  of  the  ferry-boats  which  now  and  then  came 
floating  through  the  air,  gave  the  young  girl  a  delight 
ful  metropolitan  impression.     She  sat  down  at  the 
window  and  surrendered  herself  to  the  pleasure  of  new 
sights  and  sounds.    She  had  never  been  in  New  York 
before,  but  she  had  been  warned  by  her  father,  who 
was  a  prosperous  Indiana  lawyer,  not  to  betray  her 
astonishment  at  anything  she  saw.    He  had  told  her 
u  to  stick  up  for  Indiana,"  which  was  a  superfluous  ad 
monition,  and  not  to  u  act  green."    She  was  not  prone 
to  take  advice,  as  a  role,  having  a  firm  faith  in  her 
ability  to  acquit  herself  creditably  by  her  native  clev- 


40         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

erness  in  all  relations  of  life ;  but  she  bad  in  the 
present  case  promised  her  parent  to  heed  bia  parting 
injunctions.  She  was  an  only  daughter,  having  a 
brother  many  years  her  senior,  and  had  been  petted 
and  spoiled  from  her  earliest  years.  But,  in  spite  of 
all  that  she  did  to  arouse  people's  displeasure,  it  was 
impossible  to  dislike  her.  There  was  something  frank 
and  wholesome  and  good-humored  in  her  wildest 
freaks,  and  her  defiance  was  half  lack  of  training  and 
half  a  consciousness  of  strength  which  she  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with.  It  was  contrary  to  her  father's 
advice  that  she  had  gone  to  Oberlin  College,  studied 
Greek,' got  religion,  engaged  herself,  broken  her  en 
gagement,  become  a  temperance  lecturer,  and  written 
articles  for  "The  Woman's  Journal."  He  consoled 
himself,  in  the  end,  with  the  reflection  that  there  was 
no  harm  in  any  of  these  enterprises,  and  concluded, 
after  much  futile  remonstrance,  that  his  daughter 
would  have  to  live  her  own  life  and  shape  her  own 
destiny.  Delia,  who  had  been  clamoring  for  this  very 
right,  was  perfectly  content  with  his  conclusion,  and 
resolved,  in  a  crude,  youthful  way,  to  make  the  most 
of  her  freedom,  and,  without  reference  to  public  preju 
dice,  carve  out  a  career  for  herself  which  should  put 
her  critics  to  shame.  Having  committed  the  mistake 
of  being  born  a  girl,  she  would  do  her  utmost  to  recti 
fy  it.  The  world,  and  particularly  the  masculine  part 
of  it,  had  entered  into  an  ignoble  conspiracy  to  keep 
women  in  subjection,  to  deprive  them  of  their  human 
rights,  and  make  them  serve  where  they  had  been 
equipped  for  command.  It  was  a  very  shrewd  thing, 
she  conceded,  on  the  part  of  the  men,  for  women  were 
naturally  so  much  cleverer  than  their  tyrants — had 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  HEATHEN.  41 

more  wit,  finesse,  and  a  finer  quality  of  brain — that  the 
latter  had  to  fall  back  upon  mere  brute  force  to  estab 
lish  their  monstrous  supremacy.  Delia  meant  to  spend 
her  life  in  the  effort  to  reverse  this  unnatural  order  of 
things.  It  was  for  this  reason  she  had  procured  a  class 
ical  education,  studied  higher  mathematics,  and  gone 
on  the  lecture-platform.  She  had  had  a  fair  success  in 
this  capacity,  not  because  of  what  she  had  to  say — which 
was  audacious  rather  than  original — but  because  of  her 
good  looks.  It  was  a  novel  thing  to  see  a  beautiful 
young  girl  of  twenty-two,  in  mannish  attire,  stand 
up  and  with  the  most  charming  defiance  haul  the  men 
over  the  coals  for  their  injustice  to  women.  It  was  a 
sort  of  lark ;  and  though  Delia  saw  that  she  was  not 
taken  seriously,  she  determined  to  persevere  until  she 
should  compel  the  world  to  listen  to  her.  She  was 
very  little  disturbed  by  the  press  notices,  which  went 
into  rapturous  descriptions  of  her  appearance  and  ig 
nored  what  she  said,  or  summed  it  up  in  a  paragraph 
of  half  a  dozen  lines.  She  collected  them  scrupu 
lously,  and,  much  as  she  tried  to  conceal  the  fact  from 
herself,  she  rather  liked  them.  She  grew  bolder  and 
bolder  in  her  arraignment  of  modem  civilization,  and 
soon  came  into  conflict  with  the  clergy,  who  quoted 
the  Bible  to  prove  her  an  Antichrist  and  a  subverter 
of  the  faith.  Nothing  could  have  pleased  Delia  more 
than  such  a  conspicuous  r6le.  She  took  up  the  gaunt 
let  bravely,  and  made  her  contemptuous  adjectives  buzz 
about  the  ears  of  the  shocked  parsons.  The  Bible,  she 
now  discovered,  was  responsible  for  the  degradation  of 
women,  The  first  step  toward  the  emancipation  of 
her  sex  must  be  the  abolition  of  the  Christian  religion. 
The  newspapers  now  dabbed  her  "  the  Beautiful  Hea- 


42         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

then  w — a  name  which  she  boldly  accepted,  and  used  aa 
a  sub-title  in  her  advertisements.  She  grew  more  and 
more  reckless  in  her  attacks  upon  the  Bible,  or,  as  one 
of  her  admirers  put  it,  she  "  appreciated  the  humorous 
side  of  the  Biblical  myths,  and  gave  those  polygamous 
old  patriarchs  fits."  Another  worshiper,  who  had 
vainly  placed  his  hand  and  heart  at  her  disposal,  called 
her  a  "  Herbert  Spencer  done  in  soprano,"  another 
apostrophized  her  as  "  Ingersoll  in  petticoats."  Some 
burned  incense  to  her  in  verse,  and  nourished  her  van 
ity  by  extravagant  adulation.  She  came  to  believe 
gradually  that  she  was  doing  a  work  of  tremendous 
importance  to  mankind ;  that  like  a  nineteenth  coni> 
i^rv  Luther  she  was  breaking  the  shackles  of  super 
stition,  and  delivering  the  human  soul  from  the  bond 
age  of  the  dark  ages.  She  accepted  everything  that 
was  new  with  avidity;  devoured  Darwin,  Spencer, 
Tyndall,  Huxloy,  Fouorbach,  La  Sallo,  Fourier,  and 
Marx,  and  reproduced  their  arguments  in  an  airy  and 
rather  flippant  way,  properly  seasoned  with  jokes  and 
witticisms  of  her  own  invention.  And  yet,  with  all  her 
irreverence  and  hunger  for  notoriety,  there  was  really 
no  harm  in  her.  So  far  from  being  any  of  the  tre 
mendous  characters  in  which  sho  half  unconsciously 
posed,  she  was  only  a  vain,  headstrong,  but,  on  the 
whole,  kind-hearted  girl ;  clever,  audacious,  untrained, 
and  gifted  with  a  certain  dramatic  verve  which  made 
her  enter  enthusiastically  into  any  rdle  that  seemed 
impressive. 


THE  FINGER  OF  FATE.  43 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   FINGER   OF   FATE, 

Two  days  after  her  arrival  in  the  city,  Miss  Saun- 
ders  surprised  her  cousin  by  asking  his  advice  in  the 
choice  of  an  artist  to  paint  her  portrait.  A  Western 
admirer,  it  appeared — a  rich  widower  in  St.  Louis — 
had  declared  his  willingness  to  pay  a  liberal  sum  for 
the  privilege  of  possessing  her  painted  counterfeit; 
and  she  had  promised  him,  on  her  arrival  in  New 
York,  to  be  mindful  of  his  prayer.  Julian,  who  had 
a  large  acquaintance  among  artists,  and  knew  exactly 
what  each  one  could  do,  recommended  his  friend 
George  Talbot,  of  whose  skill  as  a  portrait  painter  he 
expressed  the  highest  opinion.  He  may  also  have  been 
influenced  by  the  consideration  that  Talbot,  as  he 
knew,  was  studiously  accumulating  funds  for  a  Roman 
pilgrimage,  and  this  Western  contribution,  he  rea 
soned,  would  probably  be  very  welcome. 

It  was  with  the  best  grace  at  his  command  that  he 
offered  to  accompany  his  fair  cousin  to  Mr.  Talbot's 
studio ;  and,  after  a  critical  inspection  of  her  toilet, 
offered  her  a  seat  in  his  carriage.  He  did  not  approve 
of  her  hat,  which  was  too  unconventional,  but  he  did 
not  feel  at  liberty  as  yet  to  offer  suggestions.  But  he 
could  not  very  well,  on  account  of  her  hat,  refuse  to 
appear  with  her  in  public.  She  talked  with  an  ani 
mation  which  was  almost  embarrassing,  as  they  drove 
down  the  avenue,  and  seemed  wholly  unconscious  both 
of  his  discomfort  and  the  attention  which  she  at 
tracted.  Nevertheless,  he  resisted  the  temptation  to 


44         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

request  the  coachman  to  turn  into  Madison  Avenue. 
The  venerable  yellow  stages  which  in  those  days  went 
bumping  and  lurching  through  the  crowd  of  handsome 
equipages  particularly  interested  Delia.  They  reminded 
her  of  Indiana,  she  declared.  She  was  not  in  the  least 
vexed  at  Julian's  unresponsivoness,  but  talked  at  him 
with  unfailing  good-humor  about  everything  she  saw 
and  hoard.  Every  now  and  then  a  stray  lock  of  her 
blonde  hair  escaped  from  its  confinement,  and  when 
she  tucked  it  in  he  noticed  afresh  her  small,  dimpled 
hand  and  the  pretty  outline  of  her  face,  and  thought 
it  a  pity  that  she  had  not  had  a  better  bringing  up ;  for 
it  wag  to  the  misuse  of  an  untrammoled  freedom,  which 
is  always  a  bud  thing  for  girls,  that  ho  attributed  hor 
unconventional  demeanor. 

The  carriage  stopped  outside  of  the  Tenth  Street 
Studio  Building,  where  Talbot  occupied  two  rooms  on 
the  top  floor.  He  opened  the  door  himself,  holding 
his  palotto  and  brushes  in  his  loft  hand,  and  with  a 
cordial  greeting  ushered  his  visitors  into  the  studio. 
He  was  a  young  man  of  about  twenty-five,  slender  of 
growth,  and  undeniably  handsome.  He  was  as  blonde 
as  a  canary  bird,  and  as  daintily  made.  His  fine  pale- 
yollow  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle,  and,  as  it  wore, 
evaporated  in  a  kind  of  fluffy  cloud  about  his  ears. 
When  he  walked  it  waved  to  the  rhythm  of  his  step. 
He  had  a  mustache,  too,  of  a  little  deeper  yellow  than 
his  hair,  and  a  fresh,  rather  girlish  complexion.  His 
face  expressed  gentleness  and  delicacy  of  sentiment. 
Ilia  features,  though  not  remarkable  in  themselves, 
showed  that  ho  had  been  tenderly  reared.  Their  neu 
trality  was,  however,  relieved  by  a  pair  of  large  blue, 
introspective  eyes,  with  a  warm,  luminous  depth  in 


THE  FINGER  OF  FATE.  45 

them.  They  were  mild,  like  the  personality  which 
they  illustrated,  but  they  were  unusually  ardent,  full 
of  fine  possibilities.  In  his  attire  the  young  man  re 
vealed  an  eye  for  effect  which  departed  slightly  from 
the  conventional  standard.  But  the  extravagant  knot 
of  his  scarlet  necktie,  his  black  velvet  jacket,  and  light 
trousers,  considerably  wider  than  fashion  prescribed, 
were  permissible  enough  in  an  artist,  to  whom  Custom 
grants — in  dress,  as  in  morals — a  limited  exemption 
from  her  authority. 

Delia,  to  whom  this  species  of  man  was  a  novel 
phenomenon,  took  him  in  with  a  great  frank  gaze 
which  somewhat  disconcerted  him.  He  pulled  for 
ward  two  big  chairs  draped  with  Syrian  rugs,  and 
begged  his  visitors  to  be  seated. 

"  You  came  just  in  time  to  save  this  picture  from 
demolition,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  young  lady. 

"  And  what  has  the  poor  picture  been  doing?"  in 
quired  Delia. 

"  Oh !  I  was  getting  furious  at  it,"  the  artist  re 
plied. 

44  You  don't  look  to  me  as  if  your — as  if  you  could 
ever  get  furious,"  she  rejoined,  smiling. 

"As  if  your  fury  could  be  very  dangerous"  was 
what  she  had  intended  to  say ;  but  a  look  from  her 
cousin  made  her  realize  the  impropriety  of  such 
candor. 

44  Oh,  you  don't  know  me,"  he  ejaculated,  with  a 
laugh.  44  Nature  thought  it  was  a  good  joke  to  give 
a  man  as  fiery  as  gunpowder  the  face  of  an  Easter 
lily — to  clothe  a  gigantic  soul  in  the  guise  of  a  pygmy. 
She  thought  it  would  make  an  interesting  situation, 
or  a  series  of  interesting  situations.  I  assure  you,  I 


46         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

feel  gigantic.  But  it  is  no  good.  There's  nobody, 
except  Burroughs  there,  who  is  willing  to  take  me  at 
my  own  estimate." 

He  laughed  again,  and  "blushed  like  a  girl. 

"  You  must  pardon  me  for  being  BO  autobiographi 
cal,  Miss  Saunders,"  he  said,  "but  you  brought  it 
upon  yourself  by  questioning  my  Olympic  fury." 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  with  the  picture,  that's 
what  I  should  like  to  know  ?  "  asked  Julian,  who  had 
been  regarding  the  portrait  with  deep  interest,  "If 
this  woman  is  BO  beautiful  as  you  have  made  her,  I 
should  give  a  good  deal  to  see  the  original." 

"  That's  just  it.  She's  far  more  beautiful.  Though 
I  have  never  seen  her,  I  am  head  over  ears  in  love  with 
her.  The  portrait  has  been  ordered  by  a  well-known 
banker  in  the  city,  who,  I  take  it,  is  in  the  same  pre 
dicament  as  I  am.  But  he  has  had  the  advantage  of 
seeing  her,  and,  I  fancy,  of  being  refused  by  her.  This 
cabinet  photograph  is  all  I  have  to  paint  from,  and 
you  can  see  exactly  where  it  fails  to  render  the 
exquisite  personality.  It  is  just  good  enough  to  bo 
tantalizing,  and  poor  enough  to  make  one  tear  hia 
hair." 

"  And  who  is  tjie  lady  ?  " 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  But,  as  you'll 
observe,  the  photograph  is  taken  in  Rome." 

"In  Rome?    So  it  is!" 

Julian  took  the  photograph,  and  began  to  examine 
it  with  renewed  interest.  It  was  the  face  of  a  woman 
of  twenty  four  or  five,  and  surpassingly  lovely.  There 
was  a  gentlo  radiance,  a  noble  serenity  and  repose  in 
the  expression,  which  hinted  at  a  beautiful  character. 
The  carriage,  and  particularly  the  grand  pose  of  the 


THE  FINGER  OF  FATE.  47 

head,  indicated  a  woman  above  the  average  size,  and 
one  accustomed  to  homage.  A  petite  person  could 
never  have  attained  such  a  superb  tranquillity  and 
ease ;  and,  moreover,  Nature  docs  not  put  such  a  head 
upon  any  one  who  does  not  tend  toward  Junonian  pro 
portions. 

"Did  you  ever  know  Crampton?"  Burroughs  in 
quired  after  a  pause,  transferring  his  scrutiny  from 
the  photograph  to  the  painted  picture. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  knew  him  well.  They  say  he  shot 
himself,  poor  fellow  1 " 

"  I  inferred  as  much.  Did  you  ever  hear  any  of 
the  particulars?" 

"No.  I  only  heard  there  was  a  woman  in  the 
case ;  but  ca  va  sans  dire" 

"  You  never  heard  who  the  woman  was  ?  " 

"  It  never  occurred  to  me  to  inquire.  Crampton 
was  rather  an  odd  stick,  you  know,  and  very  apt  to  get 
off  his  base." 

Burroughs  made  no  response  to  this,  but  fell  again 
to  studying  the  picture,  while  Talbot  exhibited  to 
Delia  his  treasures  in  bric-a-brac  and  some  of  his  am 
bitious  canvases. 

"  You  know,"  he  observed,  with  youthful  egoism, 
as  he  placed  an  unframed  composition  on  an  easel,  "  I 
belong  distinctly  to  the  modern  school." 

"Good  for  you!"  exclaimed  Delia;  "that  is  ex 
actly  where  I  belong,  too.  No  musty  superstition  or 
tradition  or  imposition  for  me,  thank  you  I " 

Talbot  was  a  trifle  startled  by  this  unexpected  in 
dorsement,  and  observed,  gently : 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  didu't  know  you  were 
a  professional." 


4$         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,  I  am,"  Delia  declared,  with  a 
grand  sweep  of  her  hand — "  not  in  your  line,  exactly, 
but  in  another,  and,  I  may  say,  far  grander  one  I " 

"  There  is  nothing  grander  than  art,  madam,"  re 
torted  Talbot,  warmly. 

"  Well,  that's  a  matter  of  taste.  What  do  you  say 
to  religion  ?  " 

"  Ah !  then  you  are  a  preacher — a  woman  preach 
er?" 

"  You  may  call  me  BO,  if  you  like.  I  am  a  lect 
urer  on  religious,  or,  as  some  assert,  irreligious  sub 
jects." 

•"That  is  very  interesting — very  interesting,  in 
deed  !  And,  from  a  religious  point  of  view,  what  do 
you  think  of  that  creed  of  mine  which  you  see  before 
you?" 

"  Creed !    Do  you  call  that  a  creed  ?  " 

"Well,  what  else  would  you  call  it?" 

"  Two  oxen  plowing  and  a  man  with  a  skin  patch 
on  the  seat  of  his  pantaloons.  How  can  you  make  a 
creed  out  of  that?" 

"  I'll  call  it  a  declaration  of  faith,  if  you  like  that 
better." 

"  No,  I  don't  like  it  a  bit  better,"  ejaculated  the 
irrepressible  Delia. 

"  Well,  in  this  picture  I  have  announced  glaringly 
what  I  regard  as  the  true  principles  of  art  It  is  a 
piece  of  earth  faithfully  handled.  There  is  nothing 
more  that  that  piece  of  earth  can  yield  than  it  has 
there  yielded  to  me.  There  is  life  as  it  is — not  as  it 
ought  to  be  or  as  we  would  like  it  to  be.  That  fellow 
there  is  a  clod  of  earth  like  that  which  he  plows,  only 
a  trifle  further  up  in  the  scale  of  evolution.  The 


THE  FINGER  OP  FATE.  49 

oxen,  'the  heavily  lumbering  oxen,'  as  Homer  calls 
them,  stand  half-way  between.  Do  you  notice  the 
fellow's  slouchy  gait  ?  What  does  that  tell  you  ?  " 

"  That  he  has  got  up  sooner  than  he  liked  to." 

"  Exactly.     And  the  patch  on  his  trousers  ?  " 

"  The  patch  ?  Well,  that  seems  to  indicate  that  he 
is  unmarried,  for  nobody  except  himself  could  have 
made  those  stitches." 

"  And  the  whole  barren,  contracted  life  of  the  man, 
with  its  grim  toil  from  morning  till  night — the  dreary 
routine  of  eating,  sleeping,  and  working ;  the  dimly 
groping  brute  soul,  with  no  outlook  beyond  victuals, 
the  instinct  of  mating,  and  petty  economies — can  you 
see  that,  or  do  I  only  imagine  that  I  have  succeeded 
in  expressing  it?" 

"  But,  if  you  meant  to  tell  all  that,  why  didn't  you 
show  the  man's  face  ?  It  would  be  a  wonder  if  his 
rear  view  could  be  so  eloquent  or — what  did  you  call 
it  ? — autobiographical." 

"But,  don't  you  see,  it  was  the  difficulty  that  fas 
cinated  me.  If  I  had  presented  him  tn  face,  it  would 
have  been  no  great  achievement.  A  face  is  always  an 
epitomized  biography;  but  an  autobiographical  back 
— that  is  a  very  much  harder  subject" 

"  Well,  I  should  say  so !  You  know  I  came  here 
to  ask  you  to  paint  my  portrait,  and  by  that  I  meant 
my  face ;  but  now  I  am  half  inclined  to  ask  you  to 
paint  my  back  instead.  Do  yon  think  you  could  make 
it  autobiographical  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  quizzical  smile,  which  he 
was  disposed  to  resent ;  but  an  order  was  an  order,  and 
he  could  not  afford  to  quarrel  with  a  customer. 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  paint  you  in  any  attitude  you 
4 


50         THE  LIGHT  OP  HKR  COUNTENANCE. 

prefer,"  he  said,  with  cool  conventionality.    All  the 
animation  had  gone  out  of  his  face. 

It  began  to  dawn  upon  Delia  that  he  was  displeased. 
"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you  to  paint  me  addressing 
an  audience — something  in  this  style." 

She  struck  a  rhetorical  attitude,  with  one  arm 
akimbo  and  the  other  extended,  as  if  in  passionate  re 
monstrance.  Talbot,  thinking  she  was  still  joking, 
burst  out  laughing,  and  assumed  a  still  more  extrava 
gant  attitude. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried,  forgetting  his  pique  in  his  amuse 
ment  ;  "  or  something  like  this." 

He  flung  both  hands  toward  the  ceiling  and  frowned 
like  a  thunder-cloud.  Julian,  being  aroused  from  his 
meditation,  suspected  that  they  were  getting  into 
trouble,  and  hastened  to  interfere. 

"  Do  you  think,  Talbot,  that  there  would  be  any 
impropriety  in  your  painting  two  portraits  of  this  lady, 
and  letting  mo  have  one  ?  " 

The  painter  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute ;  he  was 
sorely  tempted  to  accept  the  offer. 

"  I  fear,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "  that  it  is  against 
the  ethics  of  the  profession.  I  would  rather  not  do  it." 

"  But  can't  you  make  it  some  sort  of  fancy  picture, 
and  merely  retain  the  features  ?  Call  it  Hebe  or  Nau- 
sicaa  or  Andromeda  or  something  in  that  line." 

"  I  am  afraid  even  that  wouldn't  be  quite  honest." 

"Not  honest?"  cried  Delia.  "Why,  I  can't  see 
for  the  life  of  me  why  any  woman  should  object  to 
that." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  she  ought,  at  least,  to  be  con 
sulted  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  if  I  knew  this  lady  and 
could  consult  her  she  would  say  no." 


TOE  FINGER  OP  FATE.  51 

"  You  are  right,  she  would  say  no,"  Julian  assent 
ed,  after  a  pause, "  and  you  are  right  in  refusing ;  but, 
since  you  are  going  to  Rome,  will  you  promise  this : 
If  you  should  ever  meet  this  lady,  or  get  the  clew  to 
her  identity,  will  you  let  me  know,  without  delay,  who 
she  is?" 

44  With  pleasure." 

"Then  it  is  a  promise?" 

The  painter  reached  out  his  hand,  which  his  vis 
itor  shook  with  emphasis. 

"So  radiant  a  phenomenon  could  not  escape  my 
observation,"  Talbot  exclaimed.  "  I'll  be  your  Esau, 
or  Ebenezer,  or  whatever  his  name  was,  and  report  to 
you  what  kind  of  a  Laban  is  her  father,  and  by  what 
sheep  she  is  attended.  I'll  meet  her  at  the  well  at 
eventide,  and  take  a  drink  with  her  of  the  pure  waters 
of  inspiration." 

44 1  won't  ask  so  much  of  you  as  all  that,"  Bur 
roughs  replied,  with  a  laugh  which  sounded  a  little 
forced.  His  friend's  pleasantry  grated  on  him  ;  but 
he  could  not  afford  to  offend  him. 

Appointments  were  made  for  Miss  Delia's  sittings ; 
the  price  was  discussed  and  agreed  upon ;  and  some 
winged  platitudes  were  exchanged  about  the  weather, 
the  theatres,  and  the  comparative  merits  of  the  East 
and  the  West  Thereupon  Burroughs  took  his  leave, 
ushering  hia  vivacious  cousin  into  the  elevator. 


52         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   POLITICAL  EPISODE. 

THE  Democratic  Convention  which  nominated  Ju 
lian  Burroughs  for  Congress  came  near  ending  in  a 
row.  There  was  apparently  not  a  soul  outside  of  the 
initiated  lew  who  had  expected  such  a  nomination. 
Mr.  Danforth,  the  present  member,  was  a  candidate 
for  ronomination,  and  he  had  hosts  of  friends  in  the 
convention  who  felt  outraged  at  the  unceremonious 
shelving  of  one  to  whom  they  were  indebted  for  so 
many  favors,  It  was  whispered  that  he  had  offended 
the  "  Boss"  by  an  attempted  show  of  independence,  and 
that  the  latter  dignitary  had  sworn  to  take  his  scalp. 
And  now  all  the  positions  he  had  procured  for  his 
henchmen  in  the  custom-house,  the  departments,  and 
the  internal-revenue  service — all  his  efforts  in  behalf  of 
Pats  and  Mikes  and  Barnyes  and  their  friends — counted 
for  nothing,  and  his  persistent  silent  vote  for  every  job 
that  had  the  possibility  of  patronage  in  it  could  not  save 
him  from  political  extinction.  Having  an  inkling  of 
what  was  coming,  ho  had,  as  a  mere  forlorn  hope, 
packed  the  galleries  of  the  hall  and  the  stairs  without 
with  his  adherents,  who  were  merely  waiting  for  his 
signal  to  make  a  disturbance.  They  would  cheerfully 
have  mobbed  the  new  nominee,  if  they  had  known  his 
name  or  his  appearance,  for  a  now  man  meant  to 
many  of  them  loss  of  place,  salary,  and  influence. 
The  little  distinction  which  a  gaugership  or  a  clerk 
ship,  or  even  a  janitorship  conferred,  was  to  them  a 
precious  thing.  It  made  them  among  their  humble 


A  POLITICAL  EPISODE.  53 

compatriots  a  kind  of  public  characters,  and  entitled 
them  to  carry  their  heads  high.  What  wonder  that 
they  were  burning  with  animosity  toward  the  unknown 
man  who  was  to  displace  their  patron ! 

It  was  a  great,  barren,  white-washed  hall  in  East 
Seventeenth  Street  where  the  convention  was  held. 
The  Boss,  a  thick-set,  square-jawed  man,  with  a  pugna 
cious  mouth  and  a  grisly  beard,  sat,  cool  as  a  sphinx, 
on  the  platform,  surrounded  by  his  braves,  some  of 
whom  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  situation.  They 
were  of  the  most  diverse  appearance  and  position. 
Many  were  liquor-dealers,  dive-keepers,  and  prize 
fighters,  with  heavy  jaws,  large  cheek-bones,  and  ugly 
mouths ;  while  some  were  lawyers  and  business  men 
with  intelligent  faces  and  gentlemanly  bearing,  whose 
ambition  had  led  them  into  an  alliance  with  this  no 
torious  organization.  They  subordinated  themselves 
without  scruple  to  the  stout,  brutal-looking  Irishman 
who  held  mayoralties,  judgeships,  fat  receiverships, 
shrievalties,  and  sometimes  even  a  governorship  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand.  They  devoted  themselves  in  pri 
vate  nml  public  to  singing  his  praises,  found  all  sorts 
of  <  v'rtues  in  his  character,  lauded  him  to  the 

8k  io  t  stealing  (oblivious  of  the  estimate  which 

such  \ >rMM»  implied),  and  threw  a  thin  mask  of  re 
spectability  over  his  whole  degrading  activity.  And 
for  this  subserviency  they  would  sooner  or  later  reap 
their  reward. 

Julian,  who  had,  much  against  his  will,  at  the  ad 
vice  of  his  father,  been  elected  a  delegate  to  the  con 
vention,  elbowed  his  way  with  difficulty  through  the 
crowd  on  the  stairs,  which  freely  commented  on  his 
appearance.  Some  one,  by  way  of  pleasantry,  knocked 


54         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

his  hat  down  over  his  ears,  while  others  exhorted  him 
to  "  wipe  his  chin  "  and  "  pull  down  his  vest " — all  of 
which  he  bore  with  the  good-humor  of  a  candidate, 
though  he  was  inwardly  boiling.  He  heard  himself 
described  as  a  dude,  a  swell,  a  fancy  chap,  etc.,  and 
he  got  several  vicious  punches  in  his  ribs,  indicative 
of  the  sentiments  that  were  entertained  toward  his 
species.  He  succeeded,  however,  in  rescuing  himself 
out  of  the  throng  without  broken  bones,  and  presently 
took  his  scat  unobserved  near  one  of  the  windows. 

It  was  a  good  while  before  the  meeting  was  called 
to  order.  Laughing  and  subdued  conversation  were 
heard  from  all  parts  of  the  hall.  The  smell  of  bad 
cigars  made  the  atmosphere  oppressive,  and  a  cloud  of 
blue  smoke  hung  under  the  gas-fixtures  and  slowly 
rose  toward  the  ceiling.  It  was  understood  that  a 
committee  were  having  a  conference  in  another  part 
of  the  building  with  representatives  of  the  other  Dem 
ocratic  organization  of  the  city,  with  a  view  to  avoid 
ing  contests  and  an  equitable  division  of  the  spoils. 
From  time  to  time  a  messenger  arrived  and  presented 
a  slip  of  paper  to  the  Boss,  who  scrawled  something  on 
the  back  of  it,  and  without  a  change  of  mien  on  his 
stolid  face,  handed  it  back.  Julian  had,  from  where 
he  sat,  a  good  view  of  him,  and  he  could  not  help  ad 
miring  the  consciousness  of  power  which  his  slow  move 
ments  revealed.  There  was  a  kind  of  leonine  laziness 
about  him  jvhich  was  quite  becoming.  But  the  way 
he  eat  in  his  chair,  broad,  square,  and  tranquilly  de 
fiant,  seemed  even  more  suggestive.  That  must  have 
been  the  way  Caracalla  sat ;  and  the  same  low  brow 
and  strong  neck  that  descended  in  two  parallel  lines 
from  the  root  of  the  ears  were  a  survival  from  that 


A  POLITICAL  EPISODE.  65 

ancient  type  of  imperial  boss.  If  our  republic  is  ever 
destined  to  suffer  shipwreck,  this  is  the  kind  of  man 
that  will  wreck  it  This  is  the  kind  of  ruler  which 
universal  suffrage,  in  a  community  where  &  majority  of 
the  electorate  are  ignorant,  will  invariably  produce.  He 
represents  the  true  average,  morally  and  intellectually, 
of  the  vote  that  upholds  his  power.  And  as  soon  as 
he  shall  represent,  not  the  municipal,  but  the  national 
average,  we  shall  have  him  in  the  White  House.  If 
we  permit  ignorant  hordes  of  foreigners,  at  the  rate  of 
half  a  million  a  year,  to  continue  to  lower  this  average, 
it  is  an  inevitable  result  which  no  power  in  heaven  or 
on  earth  can  prevent 

After  half  an  hour's  suspense  and  the  exchange  of 
many  messages,  five  men  filed  into  the  hall,  and  were 
received  with  shouts  and  applause.  They  took  their 
seats  on  the  platform,  shook  hands  with  the  Boss,  and 
communicated  to  him  the  results  of  their  conference. 
He  listened  with  an  impassive  mien,  except  once  when 
he  drew  down  his  mouth  into  a  smile  resembling  that 
of  a  bull  terrier.  He  nodded  several  times  slowly,  and 
spoke  between  his  teeth,  with  scarcely  a  perceptible 
motion  of  the  lips.  Presently  Mr.  Hurst,  a  prominent 
political  lawyer  whom  Julian  knew,  stepped  up ;  and 
seeing  that  he  was  recognized,  Burroughs  nodded  to 
him  across  the  hall.  The  Boss  directed  his  sullen  stare 
in  the  same  direction,  and  the  unwilling  candidate  felt 
an  unpleasant  uneasiness  steal  over  him.  He  felt  that 
he  was  not  making  a  favorable  impression.  He  was  be 
ing  judged  and  found  wanting.  There  was  something 
inexpressibly  contemptuous  in  the  way  the  mighty  man 
slowly  withdrew  his  gaze.  "Is  that  dudish-looking 
chap  old  Burrougha's  son  ?  "  he  asked  the  lawyer. 


56         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

«  Yes,  that  is  he." 

People  were  usually  noncommittal  when  talking 
with  the  Boss  until  they  had  ascertained  his  opinion. 

"IPm!  He  ain't  much  to  look  at  But,"  after 
another  glance  at  Julian,  "  he'll  do." 

"  Yes,  exactly.  That's  just  what  I  think.  Hell  no 
douht  do,"  Hurst  eagerly  assented. 

"  I  like  the  old  man's  looks  better." 

"  So  do  I.  The  old  Mr.  Burroughs  is,  so  to  speak, 
a  personage.  He  looks  like  a  man  of  weight" 

The  autocrat  of  the  metropolis  pulled,  with  much 
deliberation,  a  roll  of  tobacco  from  his  pocket  and  bit 
off  a  quid.  He  had  strong,  short,  regular  teeth  that 
looked  as  if  they  might  chew  up  a  nail  with  a  relish. 

"  Go  over  and  sit  by  him,"  he  continued,  when  he 
had  got  the  quid  comfortably  disposed,  "  and  see  that 
he  don't  make  an  ass  of  himself." 

"  Certainly,  with  much  pleasure.  Is  there  anything 
in  particular  ?  " 

"  Yes,  don't  let  him  make  a  speech  when  he  gets 
the  nomination.  Them  green  chaps  always  slops  over." 

"  All  right,  sir.    I'll  do  my  best  to  shut  him  up." 

The  Boss  waved  his  hand  in  dismissal,  and  the 
lawyer  bowed  and  withdrew.  A  manner  which  he 
would  have  resented  in  one  of  his  peers  he  accepted 
from  this  coarse,  burly  Irishman,  and  felt  rather  hon 
ored  at  having  displayed  to  the  crowd  his  intimacy 
with  so  mighty  a  personage.  He  made  his  way  be 
tween  chairs  and  benches  to  Julian,  shook  him  cor 
dially  by  the  hand,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  began  to  chat, 
giving  his  advice  in  an  off-hand,  half-jocose  manner. 
The  convention  was  now  called  to  order,  and  the  roll- 
call  was  about  to  begin,  when  the  Boss  rose,  stepped 


A  POLITICAL  EPISODE.  57 

to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  and  said  in  a  grouty,  ster 
torous  voice  : 

"  The  police  will  please  clear  the  lobbies." 
Never  were  the  behests  of  a  sovereign  executed 
with  greater  promptness.  The  formidable  blue-coats, 
armed  with  night-clubs,  rose,  as  it  appeared,  out  of  the 
very  ground,  moved  toward  the  doors,  and  precipitated 
the  rebellious  clients  of  Mr.  Danforth  down  the  stairs 
into  the  outer  darkness.  Those  who  resisted  were 
clubbed  on  the  head,  canes  were  broken,  tall  hats 
wrecked,  coats  torn,  clay  pipes  shattered  into  atoms. 
For  five  minutes  the  pandemonium  was  such  that  the 
roll-call  within  could  scarcely  be  heard.  The  delegates, 
who  always  applauded  their  master's  methods,  laughed 
and  joked  and  regarded  the  episode  as  capital  fun. 

A  chairman  was  now  nominated  and  unanimously 
elected,  and  a  great  deal  of  routine  business  was 
promptly  dispatched.  Everything  had  been  carefully 
prepared  beforehand ;  the  convention  did  nothing  but 
register  the  Boss's  decrees.  Even  the  seeming  dis 
sent  of  two  delegates,  who  got  up  and  quarreled  about 
a  nomination  for  which  each  had  his  candidate,  had 
been  prearranged  with  a  view  to  deceiving  the  two 
gentlemen  concerned  and  enabling  the  convention  to 
compromise  on  a  third  person  whom  the  Boss  had  al 
ready  designated.  It  was  admirably  done,  and,  as  a 
ruse,  was  completely  successful.  When  the  little  farce 
was  at  an  end  and  harmony  restored,  a  delegate  with  a 
strong  brogue  got  up  and  nominated  the  "  Honorable  w 
Julian  Burroughs  for  "  Mimber  of  Congress  for  the 
th  Deesthrick."  He  indulged  in  some  highly  lauda 
tory  comments  on  his  candidate,  who,  he  asseverated, 
had  always  been  the  "  worrukin*  man'g  frrind,  a  frrind 


58          THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

of  ould  Oireland,  and  a  good  ould-fashioned  Dimmicrat 
that  niver  wint  back  on  his  frrinds."  He  made  up  a 
touching  but  wholly  fictitious  biography  for  hia  "  hon- 
ored  frrind,"  as  he  called  Julian  (though  he  had  never 
seen  him  until  an  hour  ago),  and  finally  sat  down 
amid  a  storm  of  applause,  winking  his  eye  slyly  toward 
the  subject  of  his  eulogy,  as  if  to  ask  if  he  hadn't  done 
pretty  well.  At  this  moment  Mr.  Hurst,  who  had 
been  delegated  to  look  after  Julian,  stepped  up  on  the 
platform  and  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  Boss : 

"That  young  lunatic  is  determined  to  make  his 
speech,  and  nothing  I  can  say  will  stop  him." 

The  great  man  smiled  again  his  bull-terrier  smile, 
nodded  slowly,  and  observed  that  it  was  "all  right. 
Mr.  Hurst  need  give  himself  no  further  uneasiness." 
While  a  gentleman  in  another  part  of  the  hall,  whom 
Julian  knew  slightly,  rose  to  second  his  nomination 
with  another  little  eulogy,  the  Boss  beckoned  to  the 
chairman  of  the  convention,  who  instantly  inclined 
hia  ear  toward  him.  No  sooner  had  the  seconder  fin 
ished  his  remarks  tha,n  the  purport  of  these  secret  in 
structions  was  divulged.  The  chairman  rapped  hia 
desk  with  his  gavel,  and,  stepping  to  the  front  of  the 
platform,  said  that,  before  putting  the  nomination  of 
Mr.  Burroughs  to  vote,  he  would  ask  the  honorable  gen 
tleman,  as  a  special  favor,  to  take  the  chair  for  a  mo 
ment,  as  he  desired  the  privilege  of  adding  a  few  words 
to  the  just  encomiums  already  pronounced  by  his  friends 
the  Honorable  Patrick  Mulligan  and  the  Honorable 
Spencer  McDuff.  Julian,  who  was  taken  completely 
by  surprise,  thought  that  his  ears  were  deceiving  him, 
or  that  the  chairman,  for  some  reason,  wished  to  make 
sport  of  him,  or,  perhaps,  by  underhand  tactics,  de- 


A  POLITICAL  EPISODE.  59 

feat  his  nomination ;  but  when  the  request  was  twice 
repeated,  and  obviously  with  the  friendliest  intention, 
he  saw  no  way  of  refusing,  and,  amid  a  storm  of  ap 
plause,  he  made  his  way  to  the  platform,  feeling  dazed 
and  dizzy,  and  inwardly  fearful  lest,  in  some  way,  he 
might  make  a  fool  of  himself  in  this  unaccustomed 
position.  The  Boss  shook  hands  with  him  as  he  pre 
sented  himself  on  the  platform,  and,  turning  to  the 
audience,  said : 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  prisint  to  the  convention 
the  Honorable  Julian  Burroughs,  our  next  congress 
man  for  the th  District" 

Here  the  applause  broke  forth  anew,  while  Julian 
stood  bowing  and  bowing,  and  finally,  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  burning  ears,  seated  himself  in  the  vacated 
chair.  The  late  chairman,  taking  the  floor,  devoted 
himself  for  five  minutes  to  the  production  of  amiable 
fiction  concerning  the  moral  and  intellectual  merits  of 
"  the  Honorable  Julian  Burroughs,"  his  devotion  to  the 
cause  of  Ireland,  and  hia  sterling  democratic  senti 
ments.  The  call  for  the  question  was  then  raised, 
and  the  temporary  chairman,  without  clearly  perceiv 
ing  that  he  was  cutting  himself  off  from  making  his 
speech  of  acceptance,  was  compelled  to  put  his  own 
nomination  to  vote  and  declare,  amid  much  laughter, 
that  it  appeared  to  be  unanimously  carried.  He  was 
bound,  however,  in  a  few  words,  to  thank .  the  conven 
tion  for  the  honor  which  it  had  conferred  upon  him ; 
but  just  then  the  chairman  returned  and  proceeded 
to  the  consideration  of  fresh  nominations.  It  now 
dawned  upon  the  novice  in  politics  that  he  had  been, 
in  some  mysterious  way,  outwitted,  and  that  his  chance 
of  delivering  his  cherished  speech  was  gone.  He  was 


(JO         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

not  at  all  sure  that  there  had  been  any  design  of 
bringing  about  this  result,  but  that,  nevertheless,  it 
had  been  accomplished  was  beyond  dispute.  It  was  a 
most  humiliating  fact,  not  only  because  all  his  beauti 
ful  reform  sentiment  had  been  wasted,  but  because  it 
gave  him,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  a  sense  of  inse 
curity — of  not  quite  knowing  his  bearings — and  a  sus 
picion  of  hidden  pitfalls  beneath  his  unwary  feet. 
Was  it  possible  that  the  Boss  had  received  an  inkling 
of  what  his  speech  contained  ?  There  was  not  a  soul 
who  had  seen  this  speech  except  his  father,  and  he  was 
surely  not  capable  of  playing  such  a  dastardly  trick. 
He  'had,  to  be  sure,  rejected  all  the  old  gentleman's 
suggestions,  and  had  laughed  at  the  hollow,  spread- 
eagle  phrases  which  he  had  insisted  upon  as  indis 
pensable.  It  was  more  than  likely  that  his  father 
meant  what  he  said  when  he  prophesied  his  political 
ruin  from  such  a  speech ;  and,  as  he  had  set  his  heart 
upon  seeing  him  in  public  life,  was  it  not  an  imagin 
able  possibility  that  he  had  made  a  confidant  of  the 
Boss? 

Julian  was  so  interested  in  this  speculation  that  he 
paid  no  heed  to  the  further  proceedings  of  the  con 
vention,  and  when,  long  after  midnight,  he  found  him 
self  strolling  up  Broadway  toward  Madison  Square,  he 
was  yet  debating  the  pros  and  cons.  For  no  sooner 
had  he  apparently  settled  the  question  than  a  new 
doubt  put  forth  its  ugly  head  and  upset  all  his  previ 
ous  argument.  It  was  a  thorny  path  he  was  about  to 
tread,  and  he  was  not  sure  but  that  it  would  be  the 
part  of  wisdom  to  retrace  his  steps  while  there  was  yet 
time. 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  ARTIST.  61 

CHAPTER   VI. 
A   CONVERSATIONAL  ARTIST. 

GEORGE  TALBOT  filled  a  space  in  the  artistic  world 
of  the  metropolis  all  out  of  proportion  to  his  size.    He 
was  the  kind  of  man  that  either  repels  or  attracts  strong 
ly  ;  that  makes  partisans  of  his  friends  and  arouses  all 
the  hidden  malignity  in  the  bosoms  of  his  enemies. 
There  were  artists  in  good  standing  who  pronounced 
him  a  crude  sensationalist,  a  mountebank,  and  a  char 
latan,  and  there  were  others  of  not  inferior  standing 
who  spoke  of  him  as  the  hope  of  American  art,  and  by 
all  odds  the  strongest  man  that  wielded  a  brush  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic.     The  smallest  sketch  from  his 
hand — if  only  a  few  pen-scratches  on  a  sheet  of  paper 
— had  the  power  to  excite  an  animosity  in  certain  ven 
erable  academicians  which  was  in  itself  a  tribute  to 
the  young  man's  importance.     For  if  he  was  so  devoid 
of  talent  as  they  declared  him  to  be,  what  danger  was 
there  then  of  his  debasing  American  art,  and  what  oc 
casion  was  there  for  demolishing  him  with  such  heavy 
artillery?     Ho  had  his  clacque^  to  be  sure,  who,  by 
their  excessive  zeal,  exposed  themselves  and  him  to 
ridicule.    He  was  suspected,  though  perhaps  unjustly, 
of  having  organized  this  enthusiastic  chorus  for  ad 
vertising  purposes;  for  his  clever  paradoxes,  of  which 
he  uttered  many,  had  a  way  of  getting  into  print  which 
could  hardly  be  explained  without  his  collusion.    "  The 
Spectator,"  M  The  Saunterer,"  "  The  Man  about  Town," 
and  whatever  else  the  chatty  paragraphers  for  the  Sun 
day  press  may  be  called,  appeared  all  to  be  on  intimate 


62         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

terms  with  Talbot,  and  commented  on  his  doings  and 
sayings  as  if  he  had  been  a  celebrity.  They  chaffed 
him  good-naturedly  on  his  conceit,  as  if  his  harmless 
aggressiveness  had  been  as  much  a  national  property 
as  Grant's  cigar  or  Butler's  cockeye.  To  live  thus  in 
the  light  of  publicity  has  its  dangers  for  a  man  of 
twenty-six.  And  as  for  Talbot,  there  was  no  denying 
that  he  took  himself  more  au  grand  serieux  than  his 
performances  warranted.  lie  felt  his  oats,  as  the 
phrase  is.  It  was  very  easy  to  make  fun  of  him  if  you 
were  so  disposed.  But  it  was  no  less  easy  to  be  fasci 
nated  with  his  youthful  exuberance  of  spirits  and  his 
genially  fantastic  talk.  It  seemed  difficult  not  to  be 
lieve  in  him.  He  was  a  personage  in  his  way — a  rich 
and  definite  individuality,  with  a  distinct  physiognomy 
of  his  own.  It  was  scarcely  credible  that  he  should 
expect  such  great  tilings  of  himself,  unless  he  were 
conscious  of  some  power  within  which  justified  his 
self-esteem. 

Delia  Saunders  had  not  made  many  visits  to  the 
studio  in  Tenth  Street  before  she  discovered  that 
George  Talbot  was  an  entertaining  fellow.  She  quar 
reled  with  him  most  of  the  time,  to  be  sure ;  but  she 
was  controversial  by  nature,  and  rather  liked  quarrel 
ing,  particularly  i with  a  man  of  whom  she  had  the  ad 
vantage  in  size,  if  not  in  argument.  She  could  never 
take  a  small  man  seriously,  she  declared,  even  though 
he  were  ever  so  clever ;  and  she  found  herself,  by  some 
mysterious  instinct,  giving  undue  weight  even  to  the 
stupidities  of  a  big  man.  She  had  an  unpleasant  way 
of  pointing  at  the  portrait  with  a  mahl-stick  or  any 
other  convenient  object  while  Talbot  was  painting; 
and  it  was  of  no  use  that  he  remonstrated  and  nearly 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  ARTIST.  63 

jumped  out  of  hia  skin  with  excitement.  Much 
against  his  judgment  he  had  been  obliged  to  exhibit 
Miss  Delia  on  a  platform  with  a  glass  of  ice-water,  as 
indicative  of  her  temperance  principles  and  her  public 
character.  She  was  represented  standing  boldly  erect, 
with  one  hand  leaning  on  the  desk,  her  handsome  chin 
raised,  and  her  unabashed  gaze  defying  a  world  of 
masculine  prejudice  and  opposition.  It  was  contrary 
to  all  the  artist's  preconceived  notions  to  put  a  young 
girl  on  canvas  in  that  style ;  but  gradually,  as  he 
caught  the  key-note  of  Delia's  personality,  he  began 
to  relish  her  oddities  in  a  purely  pictorial  way,  and  to 
emphasize  what,  at  first,  ho  would  have  left  unex 
pressed. 

It  was  part  of  the  young  lady's  social  creed  that 
chaperons  were  survivals  of  barbarism,  and  she  dis 
carded  Mrs.  Whitcomb's  services,  much  to  that  lady's 
chagrin.  She  was  amply  able  to  take  care  of  herself, 
she  maintained ;  and  Talbot,  after  one  or  two  sittings, 
to  which  she  came  unattended,  quite  agreed  with  her. 
If,  however,  she  declared,  in  her  serio-comic  way,  he 
felt  the  need  of  a  chaperon  for  his  own  protection, 
she  would  not  object 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said  one  morning  as  she  was  pos 
ing  in  her  attitude  of  defiance,  "  that  when  you  get 
older  you  will  be  falling  in  love  and  marrying,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing." 

a  Oh,  well,"  answered  Talbot,  as  he  put  a  skillful 
little  dab  on  the  portrait's  nose,  "  I  should  hate  to  die 
without  having  tried  it." 

He  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  work  to  take  in 
the  implied  slur,  or  perhaps  he  purposely  ignored  it 

**  I  know  what  you'll  do  when  you  arrive  at  years 


04         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

of  discretion,  or  perhaps  even  sooner,"  remarked  Delia, 
delighting  in  her  impertinence. 

"Well,  let  us  hear,"  said  the  painter,  lifting  his 
palette  at  arm's  length  to  the  level  of  his  eye,  and 
scrutinizing  the  upper  half  of  the  lady's  face ;  "  I  am 
rather  interested,  you  know." 

"  I  read  you  like  a  book,"  she  observed,  with  irri 
tating  superiority. 

"  Well,  I  like  that,"  he  cried,  laughing.  "  My  dear 
young  lady,  you  see  nothing  but  the  binding  of  that 
book,  and  I  even  doubt  if  you  appreciate  that  at  its 
worth." 

'"Yes;  half  calf,  gilt  top,"  said  Delia,  dryly. 

Talbot  winced  for  a  moment,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  flinging  palette  and  brushes  against  the  wall ;  but 
it  occurred  to  him,  just  as  he  was  about  to  execute  his 
war-dance,  that  it  was  foolish  to  be  angry  with  a  girl. 
And,  moreover,  the  remark  seemed,  on  second  thought, 
sufficiently  witty  to  excuse  its  rudeness. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  that  is  very  funny,"  ho  said, 
with  a  forced  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  it  was  half  bad." 

He  found  something  or  other  to  improve  in  the 
colors  of  the  background.  For  five  or  ten  minutes  ho 
skipped  about,  Ringing  rugs  of  rich  tawny  hues  across 
screens  and  carved  chests  of  oak,  pulling  the  window- 
shades  up  and  down,  and  experimenting  with  bright- 
colored  fans  which  he  held  up  against  Delia's  face, 
rejecting  one  after  another  with  impatient  gestures. 
When,  at  last,  ho  returned  to  his  work  on  the  portrait 
he  had  expended  his  superfluous  energy  and  resolved 
to  excuse  the  behavior  of  Miss  Saunders,  whatever  she 
misrht  do  or  sav,  on  the  plea  of  defective  breeding.  lie 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  ARTIST.  65 

painted  for  a  while  in  silence,  and  did,  as  he  flattered 
himself,  some  effective  work.  But  silence  was  torture 
to  Delia.  She  would  rather  have  been  doomed  to  life 
imprisonment  than  to  life-long  silence. 

44  Now,  be  a  good  boy,  Mr.  Talbot,"  she  began,  coax- 
ingly,  "  and  don't  get  mad  if  I  am  a  little  saucy.  I 
was  made  that  way,  and  I  can't  help  it.  But  I  really 
mean  no  harm." 

44 1  was  made  on  a  somewhat  different  plan,"  he 
answered,  painting  away  for  dear  life.  4*  I  was  so  made 
that  I  can  not  retaliate  when  a  lady  imposes  upon  my 
good-nature." 

He  blushed  furiously,  and  rapidly  plied  his  brushes. 

44  Well,  that's  tit  for  tat,"  retorted  Delia,  breaking 
into  an  irresistible  smile.  "  Now  we  are  quits,  and  you 
have  nothing  to  complain  of." 

44  All  right,"  mumbled  Talbot. 

44  But  speaking  of  marrying,"  she  continued, 4<  you 
didn't  give  me  a  chance  to  say  my  say." 

44 1  am  afraid  of  giving  you  the  chance  even  now." 

44  Oh  no,  you  needn't.  It  would  be  a  pity  if  you 
should  lose  the  benefit  of  my  advice.  I  know  exactly 
the  kind  of  woman  you'll  fall  in  love  with — and  marry, 
if  you  can." 

44  You  evidently  don't  prophesy  any  brilliant  suc 
cess  for  me  in  the  matrimonial  line." 

44  No,  I  don't  I  see  it  as  clear  as  day.  You  will 
fall  in  love  with  the  kind  of  woman  that  wouldn't 
even  look  at.  you — some  grand,  gorgeous,  pictorial 
woman — something  like  the  one  there,"  she  finished, 
pointing  to  .the  portrait  of  the  Roman  lady  in  whom 
Julian  had,  during  his  last  visit,  become  so  deeply 
absorbed. 
5 


60         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  That  isn't  exactly  complimentary,"  said  Talbot, 
seating  himself  before  the  now  finished  canvas,  and 
gazing  at  it  with  kindling  interest 

"  It  wasn't  intended  to  be  complimentary,"  ejacu 
lated  the  irrepressible  damsel ;  "  it  was  only  intended 
to  be  true." 

"  And  she  thinks  you  wouldn't  look  at  me,"  he 
murmured,  addressing  the  portrait ;  "  but,  my  dear 
madam,"  he  cried,  with  sudden  energy,  jumping  up 
and  flourishing  his  brushes,  "  you  shall  look  at  me — 
you  shall  do  more  than  look  at  me !  " 

He  put  his  palette  on  a  table,  rumpled  his  yellow 
hair,  and  began  to  pace  the  floor  excitedly. 

"You  may  think,  madam,"  he  said,  turning  to 
Delia,  "  that  I  am  a  conceited  fool ;  but  that  matters 
little  to  me.  I  can  not  expect  you  to  perceive  that 
you  are,  at  this  moment,  standing  face  to  face  with  a 
man  of  genius.  You  have  undertaken  to  prophesy 
my  future.  I'll  risk  a  counter-prophecy.  And  ten 
years  hence  we'll  meet  and  see  who  is  the  better  proph 
et;  for  then  there  will  be  few  who  will  venture  to 
dispute  my  right  to  be  named  in  the  company  of  the 
greatest.  I  want  to  put  myself  on  record  now,  and  if 
I  prove  to  be  wrong  I  shall  humble  myself  in  the  dust 
before  you — I  promise  to  do  whatever  you  may  demand 
of  me,  however  ignominious.  If  you  prove  to  be  wrong 
you  shall  beg  my  pardon.  I  may  bo  small  of  stature ;  but 
BO  is  Meissonior,  and  so  was  Napoleon.  A  great  spirit 
has,  in  this  world,  often  to  accommodate  itself  to  nar 
row  quarters.  You'll  no  doubt  smile  when  I  tell  you 
that  there  is  not  another  man  in  New  York  who  could 
luivo  puiutod  that  portrait  of  you  as  well  as  I  have 
done,  Mark  my  word,  madam,  the  time  will  come 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  ARTIST.  07 

when  your  one  title  to  remembrance  will  be  that  I 
painted  your  portrait,  just  as  the  Duchess  of  Devon 
shire  has  been  rescued  from  oblivion  by  the  fact  that 
Gainsborough  immortalized  her  by  his  genius.  Now, 
that  I  have  unbosomed  myself,  you  are  at  liberty  to 
make  peace  or  declare  war,  as  it  may  please  you.  In 
either  case,  I  am  agreeable.  You  may  take  the  por 
trait  as  it  is,  and  I'll  send  you  another  man  to  finish 
the  drapery.  Or,  if  you  prefer,  you  may  give  me  one 
or  two  more  sittings ;  one  day's  work  more  will  finish 
it.  If  I  have  offended  you  by  my  frankness,  I  hope 
you'll  pardon  me.  But  it  was  absolutely  necessary,  if 
we  are  to  continue  our  acquaintance,  that  we  should 
understand  each  other." 

He  rumpled  his  hair  again,  seized  his  palette,  and, 
mixing  three  or  four  colors  with  his  brush,  resumed 
his  labor.  Delia  was  so  completely  taken  aback  by  his 
sudden  outburst  that  for  once  in  her  life  she  was  at  a 
loss  what  to  answer.  She  did  not  dare  to  joke,  because 
she  felt  that  that  would  put  an  end  to  everything. 
And  to  make  a  serious  response  to  such  a  wildly  ex 
travagant  tirade  seemed  somehow  beneath  her  dignity. 
Evidently  there  was  something  in  this  little  man  which 
she  had  failed  to  take  into  account.  She  was  not  at 
all  inclined  to  break  off  the  acquaintance  and  then 
wait  ten  years  before  ascertaining  whether  it  was  he 
or  she  who  owed  an  apology.  Perhaps  she  had  been 
rude ;  perhaps  she  had  even  wounded  him  by  uncon 
sciously  giving  expression  to  the  rather  supercilious 
estimate  she  had  formed  of  him. 

"  Mr.  Talbot,"  she  said,  after  an  embarrassing  pause, 
44 1  have  been  in  the  wrong.  Ill  apologize  now ;  and 
if  at  the  end  of  ten  years  you  prove  to  be  the  better 


08          THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

prophet,  I'll  repeat  my  apology,  and  perform  any  act 
of  penance  you  may  impose  upon  me." 

She  had  begun  gravely  enough,  but  passed  into  a 
lighter  tone  as  she  went  on.  But  he  felt  yet  the  note 
of  sincerity  in  her  voice,  and  a  sense  of  meanness  and 
ignominiousncsa  imbittorod  his  victory.  Ho  had  been 
an  ass  to  take  her  so  seriously,  and  a  tenfold  ass  in 
allowing  his  feelings  to  run  away  with  him.  When 
would  he  ever  learn  discretion  ?  lie  had  deserved  that 
she  should  laugh  at  him  to  his  face.  But  he  was  glad 
trtio  hud  not  chosen  to  do  this.  For  in  that  CUHO  there 
was  no  knowing  of  what  monumental  folly  ho  might 
hove  been  guilty. 

lie  made  a  few  tentative  remarks  relating  to  the 
picture,  but  found  it  diilicult  to  recover  the  light,  con- 
vorHational  tone,  It  was  therefore  a  relief  to  both  when 
Julian  entered,  flushed,  weary,  and  disgusted,  and,  fling 
ing  himself  into  an  easy-chair,  began  to  stroke  his 
glossy,  peaked  beard.  Ho  picked  up  a  bronze  paper- 
cutter,  which  he  unsuccessfully  tried  to  break  ;  ho  in 
vestigated  the  head  of  the  tiger-skin  under  his  feet, 
and  pronounced  it  bad  ;  ho  lighted,  with  his  cousin's 
permission,  a  cigar,  and  let  his  restless  gaze  range 
about  the  walls  and  ceiling. 

"  If  you  must  have  something  to  break,"  cried  Tal- 
bot,  laughing,  "  then  here's  a  fan  which  I  don't  mind 
if  you  demolish." 

J  ulian  accepted  the  fan  automatically,  looked  at  it 
absently,  and  finally  gave  vent  to  what  he  had  on  his 
mind. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  never  discovered  before,"  he 
Raid,  "  and  that  is  that  culture — nay,  the  possession  of 
any  talent  or  distinction  beyond  the  average — -is  a  dis- 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  ARTIST.  09 

qualification  for  public  lifo  in  a  democracy.  I  don't 
claim  to  be  overburdened  with  either  culture  or  talent, 
but  whatever  I  have  of  either  is  a  disadvantage  to  me. 
My  father  takes  pride  in  the  fact  that  he  had  no  ad 
vantages  in- early  life;  that  since  he  was  twelve  years 
old  he  has  made  his  own  living.  He  began  his  career 
by  sweeping  out  his  uncle's  store  at  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning ;  and  out  of  a  salary  of  ten  dollars  a  month 
he  saved  one  half.  At  twenty-five  he  had  earned  a 
competence,  at  thirty  he  was  a  capitalist,  and  a  mem 
ber  of  Congress,  and  at  fifty  a  millionaire  and  a  min 
ister  plenipotentiary.  He  takes  it  for  granted  that 
when  he  who  had  nothing  done  for  him  accomplished 
so  much,  I  who  have  had  everything  done  for  me  ought 
to  accomplish  so  much  the  more.  He  forgets  that  a 
democracy  resents  refinement,  resents  culture,  and  ex 
alts  only  the  average  man.  If  I  am  to  succeed  in  pub 
lic  life,  he  will  have  to  overthrow  the  institutions  he 
has  helped  to  build  up,  and  found  a  monarchy  for  my 
benefit  If  I  ever  have  a  son,  I'll  train  him  for  the 
diplomatic  service  by  having  him  sweep  out  a  country 
store.  That  is  the  most  fitting  discipline  for  an  Amer 
ican  statesman." 

"  Take  care  that  there  are  no  reporters  around 
when  you  say  that  sort  of  thing,"  observed  Delia,  with 
mock  anxiety.  "  You  know  there  might  be  one  hid 
den  in  one  of  Mr.  Talbot's  chests,  or  in  the  folds  of  his 
draperies," 

"  I  don't  care  if  till  the  reporters  in  the  world  hear 
me,"  her  cousin  retorted.  "  I  feel  low,  degraded,  filthy,"  l 
he  continued,  after  a  pause.    "  I  have  been  doing  all 
the  vilest  things  that  a  man  can  do.    I  have  drunk  bad 
beer  and  worse  whisky  with  my  Teutonic  and  Hiber- 


70          THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

nian  constituents ;  I  have  sung  as  a  solo  in  one  saloon 
*  Erin  go  bragh,'  and  in  another  *  Die  Wacht  am  Rhein.' 
I  have  flung  no  end  of  ten-dollar  bills  on  the  counters, 
treated  the  crowd,  and  refused  to  take  change.  I  have 
done  other  base  deeds  of  villainy,  at  my  father's  insti 
gation,  and  if  there  are  any  which  I  have  left  undone, 
I  shall  go  and  do  them  to-morrow ;  for,  if  I  go  in  for 
that  sort  of  thing,  I  have  got  to  go  the  whole  hog,  as 
he  elegantly  expresses  it.  I  have  not  only  gone,  but  I 
have  leen  a  whole  hog.  Good  gracious !  I  feel  as  if  I 
never  shall  be  clean  again  as  long  as  I  live.  All  the 
perfumes  of  Arabia  could  not  sweeten  my  breath  after 
the  things  I  have  said  and  the  things  I  have  drunk. 
Why,  in  the  name  of  heaven,  does  our  country  insist 
upon  debasing  a  man,  dragging  him  through  the  filth, 
forcing  him  to  dishonor  himself  by  surrendering  his 
honest  pride  or  his  good  name,  before  it  can  find  any 
use  for  him  ?  The  governor  says  he  did  all  these  things 
which  I  have  had  to  do,  and  was  none  the  worse  for 
them ;  and  he  calls  me  a  milksop  and  a  mollicoddle 
for  making  such  a  fuss  about  trifles." 

He  wiped  his  brow  vigorously,  and  pulled  away  at 
his  cigar  while  Delia  laughed  softly,  and  glanced  at 
him  over  her  shoulder  with  amusement. 

"  I'd  give  a  dollar  to  hear  you  sing  '  Erin  go 
brngh,' "  she  said }  "  and  two  to  see  you  shake  hands 
with  Mrs.  Mulligan  and  inquire  with  tender  interest  for 
the  names  and  health  of  the  ten  little  dirty  Mulligans. 
That  was  what  father  had  to  do  when  he  ran  for 
mayor,  and  he  was  elected  purely  on  the  strength  of 
his  popularity  with  the  Irish  women.  The  Demo 
cratic  papers  made  no  end  of  fun  of  him  for  it.  But 
he  won,  all  the  same.  He  discovered,  too,  in  the  course 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  ARTIST.  71 

of  two  weeks,  that  he  had  Irish,  German,  Welsh,  and 
Scandinavian  blood  in  his  veins.  He  provided  him 
self  with  a  fresh  set  of  ancestors  every  other  night 
when  he  addressed  a  meeting  of  naturalized  citizens, 
and  became  so  hopelessly  composite  before  election  day 
that  we  scarcely  recognized  him.  We  had  to  disinfect 
him  gradually  after  election  of  all  the  different  brogues 
and  alien  habits  ho  had  contracted.  Now,  let  me  tell 
you,  Jule,  unless  you  develop  your  latent  sympathies 
with  the  cause  of  Oireland  and  adulterate  your  ances 
try,  you'll  stand  no  show  whatever." 

Julian  gave  a  lugubrious  laugh,  and  declared  that 
he  would  rather  be  hanged. 

"  Isn't  it  curious,"  Talbot  observed,  "  how  democ 
racy  repeats  itself  ?  The  sixth  epistle  of  Horace  gives 
a  fair  description  of  the  plight  of  an  American  candi 
date,  be  he  a  New  Yorker  or  an  Indianian.  •  Hire  your 
self  a  slave,'  which  is  Latin  for  '  boy,'  who  can  tell  you 
the  names,  punch  you  in  the  left  rib,  and  urge  you  to 
stretch  out  your  Jiands  across  the  counter.  This  fel 
low  has  much  'inflooence'  in  the  Fabian  ward,  that 
fellow  in  the  Velian,  etc.  Add  brother  or  father,  or, 
in  English,  old  man  or  old  chap.  The  obscure  Mikes 
and  Pats  and  Jakes  who  can  make  or  mar  your  politi 
cal  fortunes  are  perennial  phenomena,  and  will  spring 
up  like  mushrooms  out  of  the  soil  of  democracy,  wheth 
er  it  be  Roman  or  American." 

The  speaker  did  not  notice  that  his  friend's  atten 
tion  showed  signs  of  wandering,  and  that  his  eyes  were 
riveted  with  a  startled  enjoyment  and  wonder  upon 
the  portrait  of  the  Roman  lady.  Delia,  however,  re 
sponded  with  vivacity  to  the  classical  quotation,  and 
kept  the  discussion  going  for  some  minutes.  It  was 


72         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

then  one  o'clock,  and  the  sitting  was  declared  at  an 
end. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Julian,  as  he  rose  and  knocked 
the  ashes  of  his  cigar  into  the  fire-place,  "  who  did  you 
say  was  the  man  who  has  ordered  that  portrait  ?  " 

Talbot  again  named  one  of  the  most  conspicuous 
capitalists  of  the  city. 

"  How  I  wish  he  were  poor,  or  at  least  temporarily 
embarrassed.  I  have  got  to  have  that  picture,  you 
know,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  and  there's  no  use  in  your 
pretending  to  any  more  scruples  about  it.  How  much 
will  you  take,  now,  for  a  duplicate  ?  I  am  a  politician 
now,  you  see,  and  don't  stand  on  ceremony.  Let  us 
have  your  figure,  whether  it  be  high  or  low." 

The  painter  flushed  and  stared  at  his  visitor  as  if 
to  question  whether  he  could  really  be  in  earnest. 

"  You  don't  mean  what  you  say,"  he  murmured. 

«  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Well,  no  money  can  buy  that  picture,  or  a  dupli 
cate  of  it  either." 

Burroughs  stroked  his  beard  meditatively,  then 
walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

"  Well,  we  won't  quarrel  about  it,"  he  said,  turning 
half  about.  "You  are  right,  of  course,  and  I  am 
wrong.  But  will  you  do  me  another  favor  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  what  it  is." 

"  I  have  received  here  a  formidable  document  from 
the  American  Legation  in  Rome  informing  me  that  I 
am  the  legal  heir  of  Cramp  ton's  collection  of  bric-ct- 
brae,  paintings,  and  objets  de  vertu.  Now,  will  you 
take  charge  of  these  things  when  you  arrive,  box  them, 
and  ship  them  to  me  when  I  send  for  them?  " 

"  Certainly.    I  shall  be  most  pleased  to  serve  you." 


A  CONVERSATIONAL  ARTIST.  73 

"  Here  is  an  inventory  of  the  collection.  It  con 
tains  apparently  some  very  choice  bits,  particularly  in 
bronze  and  pottery.  The  collection  of  ceramics  which 
was  Crampton's  pet  hobby  as  long  as  he  lived,  is,  the 
minister's  secretary  writes  me,  one  of  the  finest  of  its 
kind  in  the  world." 

"  I'll  have  it  carefully  packed  and  shipped  when- 
over  you  may  desire  it." 

u  Thanks ;  it  is  very  kind  of  you.  You'll  draw  on 
me  for  funds,  of  course,  and  in  no  wise  put  yourself  to 
inconvenience." 

44  You  need  have  no  fear.  You  may  be  sure  it  will 
cost  you  enough  by  the  time  you  get  it  through  the 
custom-house." 

*4  When  are  you  going  ?  " 

44 1  have  taken  passage  on  the  Servia,  which  sails  a 
week  from  to-day." 

44  Lucky  dog !   Well,  if  I  don't  see  you,  bon  voyage  1 " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  QUIXOTIC  QUEST. 

THE  first  Tuesday  succeeding  the  first  Monday 
in  November  came  and  went,  and  Julian  Burroughs 
found  himself  on  the  way — not  to  Washington,  but  to 
Europe,  He  had,  in  spite  of  his  heroic  consumption 
of  bad  liquor,  been  shamefully  betrayed  and  sold  out 
The  Honorable  Abiel  Burroughs  was,  indeed,  a  shrewd 
man,  but  he  had  found  more  than  his  match  in  his 
Hibernian  fellow-citizen  Mr.  Pete  O'Connor,  the  dis- 


74         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

trict  leader  through  whose  agency  he  had  disbursed 
his  largess  to  burial  associations,  military  associations, 
Jefferson  clubs,  and  many  other  predatory  societies, 
which,  under  the  guise  of  some  benevolent  object, 
bleed  candidates,  and  with  a  beautiful  impartiality 
accept  bribes  from  all  parties.  The  number  of  sham 
and  real  charities  with  which  the  Honorable  Abiel 
became  acquainted  during  the  two  weeks  between  his 
son's  nomination  and  his  defeat  at  the  polls  was  some 
thing  amazing.  Petitioners,  lay  and  clerical,  male  and 
female,  sprang  up  in  his  path  like  mushrooms  after  a 
rainy  night.  Nay,  people  who  were  comparatively 
well-to-do,  and  whom  he  would  never  have  suspected 
of  mendicancy,  called  upon  him,  making  shameless 
requests,  and  indulging  in  veiled  threats,  if  he  told 
them  to  go  about  their  business.  If  he  had  ever  been 
troubled  with  what  is  called  faith  in  human  nature, 
ho  would  have  emerged  from  this  campaign  a  cynic 
of  the  sablcst  complexion.  But  the  Honorable  Abiel 
was  a  veteran,  and  'had  lost  his  political  innocence 
long  ago,  if  ho  ever  had  had  any  to  lose.  What  irri 
tated  him  in  this  affair  was  not  the  baseness  of  the 
average  voter  and  his  relatives,  but  his  own  guileless- 
ness  in  permitting  the  Honorable  Pete  O'Connor  to 
play  him  false.  He  obtained  abundant  proof  on  the 
very  day  of  election  that  the  Honorable  Pete  and  his 
gang  were  working,  not  for  his  son,  but  for  the  Repub 
lican  candidate,  whose  name  was  everywhere  bunched 
with  those  of  the  United  Democracy  tickets  for  tho 
municipal  offices.  Some  of  tho  veiy  men  whom  ho 
had  hired  to  watch  the  polls  in  his  son's  interest  had 
also  been  hired  by  the  opposing  candidate,  and  had 
done  effective  service  for  the  latter.  It  was  for  a  while 


A  QUIXOTIC  QUEST.  75 

a  mystery  to  him  why  they  should  display  such  an 
unreasoning  animosity  (such  sentiments  being  among 
the  last  in  which  political  mercenaries  are  apt  to  in 
dulge)  against  the  candidate  of  their  own  party;  and 
it  was  a  great  eye-opener  to  him  when  he  found  that 
no  such  animosity  existed.  By  a  so-called  deal  be 
tween  the  Republican  boys  and  the  Democratic  au 
thorities  of  corresponding  rank,  it  had  been  agreed 
that  a  certain  number  of  votes  which  would  naturally 
have  gone  to  Julian  should  be  transferred  to  the  Re 
publican  candidate  in  exchange  for  Republican  votes 
for  the  Tammany  mayor  and  sheriff.  It  was  a  bitter 
humiliation  to  the  veteran  Western  politician  that  he 
had  not  foreseen  such  an  arrangement,  and  taken  his 
precautions  accordingly.  Politics  in  the  West  was  a 
comparatively  simple  game,  and  pure  as  the  new-fallen 
enow,  compared  to  the  intricate  complexity  and  depth 
of  infamy  which  had  been  reached  by  these  shameless 
tricksters  and  wire-pullers  of  the  metropolis.  The 
old  gentleman  was  in  doubt  whether  he  should  retire 
in  virtuous  indignation  to  the  West  or  take  a  hand  in 
the  metropolitan  game  with  a  view  to  becoming  an 
expert. 

Julian,  though  he  had  never  been  eager  for  politi 
cal  honors,  was  nevertheless  disheartened  by  his  defeat. 
He  had  yielded  to  his  father's  desire  in  running  for 
Congress  not  wholly  out  of  regard  for  the  old  gentle 
man,  bub  also  because  the  life  he  was  leading  seemed 
vain  and  ignoble,  and  he  found  it  hard  to  endure  its 
emptiness.  He  would  have  been  glad  to  go  to  Con 
gress,  with  a  view  to  providing  his  existence  with  some 
tangible  contents — a  stimulus  to  effort,  a  goal  for  his 
ambition.  He  bad  hitherto  sauntered  at  a  leisurely 


76         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

pace  through  life,  stooped  here  and  there  to  pick  a 
flower  that  struck  his  fancy,  and  thrown  it  away  when 
its  freshness  and  perfume  wore  gone.  There  seemed 
absolutely  nothing  further  •  to  accomplish  in  that  line 
— nothing,  at  least,  that  was  worth  the  exertion  of 
stooping.  And  the  zest  somehow  was  gone,  too.  His 
tongue  seemed  parched,  his  feelings  half  benumbed. 
Life,  to  use  the  expression  of  Keats,  tasted  like  brass 
against  his  palate.  lie  loathed  himself  both  for  that 
which  he  had  boon  and  that  which  ho  had  not  been. 

"  Thirty  years  wasted  and  worse  than  wasted,"  ho 
murmured,  bitterly,  to  himself,  as  he  sat  in  his  little 
world  of  vases,  draperies,  and  bric-a-lrac,  and  stared 
up  at  the  frescoed  coiling.  The  noiseless  lackey  Jack- 
HOU,  who  in  the  mouu  while  had  Hiiorillcod  hiu  incipient 
mustache,  made  a  bow  in  front  of  him,  and  announced 
that  the  young  lady,  Miss  Saunders,  had  sent  him  to 
inquire  whether  Mr.  Burroughs  would  not  descend 
into  the  library,  as  she/  desired  very  particularly  to 
speak  with  him. 

"  Tell  her  I  am  ill,"  his  master  answered.  "  No, 
don't  tell  her  that,  or  she'll  be  up  here.  Tell  her  I'm 
busy — or  tell  her  anything  you  like." 

The  servant  bowed  again  and  departed. 

"  I  wish  she  would  go  home,"  ho  grumbled ;  '*  she 
is  an  awful  bore." 

He  got  up,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  The  Central  Park,  which  lifted  its  undulat 
ing  outlines  against  the  horizon,  interrupted  here  and 
there  by  some  towering  monster  of  a  building,  had  a 
yollowwh-brown,  smoky,  autumnal  air,  and  tho  ele 
vated-railroad  trains  which  crawled  along  their  lofty 
tracks  toward  Harlem  looked  in  the  distance  like  huge 


A  QUIXOTIC  QUEST.  77 

snakes  that  had  fell  designs  on  that  prosaic  commu 
nity.  Julian  was  so  deeply  absorbed  in  his  disgust  with 
himself  and  the  world  in  general  that  he  failed  to  hear 
a  knock  at  the  door  twice  repeated.  He  turned  about 
at  the  sound  of  a  voice  behind  him,  and  saw  his  father, 
looking  a  little  shabby  and  apologetic,  approach  him, 
rubbing  his  hands. 

"  Well,  Jule,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  I  didn't 
know  whether  you  was  in,  or  I  shouldn't  have  intruded 
BO  unceremoniouslike.  How  are  you,  anyway,  Jule  ?  " 

"  I  am  in  hell,  thank  you,"  said  Julian,  drearily. 
"  Is  there  anything  particular  you  want  to  see  mo 
about?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  exactly  say  as  there  is,"  the  Honor 
able  Abiel  responded,  evasively;  "but  I  reckon  I 
might  jest  as  well  say  it  straight  out  that  we  got  sold 
— you  and  mo." 

"  Yes,  governor,  we  got  sold,"  repeated  his  son, 
automatically. 

"  And,  as  I  am  about  it,  I  thought  I  might  jest  as 
well  ask  you  whether  you  have  thought  of  that  other 
proposition  of  mine  ?  " 

"  Which  one,  governor? " 

"Well,  about  getting  married  ?  " 

"  You  evidently  want  me  to  get  sold  once  more." 

"  No,  Jule,  no ;  I  don't  want  you  to  get  sold  again. 
But,  I  tell  you,  Jule,  you  are  in  a  mighty  bad  way,  if 
you  don't  mind  my  saying  so.  You  have  got  to  get 
married  in  self-defense.  You  have  got  to  find  some 
thing  worth  living  for." 

44  May  I  ask  if  you  yet  regard  Delia  as  a  promis 
ing  candidate  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Delia  is  a  good,  honest,  straightforward  girL 


78         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

You  might  go  further  and  fare  worse.  That  sort  of 
slam-bang  style  of  talk  of  hers  needn't  frighten 
anybody.  She  has  got  a  mighty  good,  first-class, 
genooino,  patent-excelsior  head-piece  on  her,  I  tell  you ; 
and  she'll  make  something  out  of  the  man  she  marries, 
no  matter  how  big  a  noodle  he  may  be." 

"And  that's  the  reason  you  think  she'd  do  for 
me?" 

"  Well,  no ;  I  didn't  mean  it  exactly  that  way. 
But,  I  tell  you,  that  girl—" 

"  Restrain  your  zeal,  governor ;  I  assure  you  it  is 
wasted.  Why,  I  declare,  you  are  getting  positively 
eloquent." 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  am  a  little  of  Shakespeare,  but 
not  very  much  of  him,"  quoted  the  old  man,  smiling 
dolefully. 

Julian  dropped  into  his  easy-chair  again,  and  sat 
smoking  in  silence. 

"  Well,  Jule,  I  ain't  particular,"  began  his  father, 
with  n  dispirited  nir,  "  any  nice,  decent  #irl  will  do. 
Only  don't  marry  one  that's  too  hifalutin." 

"  Now,  my  dear  governor,  I  don't  want  to  be  un 
pleasant  ;  but  I  beg  of  you,  let  us  drop  that  subject." 

The  young  man  rose  again  in  sheer  impatience, 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  began  to  pace 
the  iloor.  And  then,  by  some  miraculous  process,  as  a 
star  swims  out  of  a  cloud,  golden,  big,  and  lustrous,  a 
luminous  thought  'flashed  out  upon  him,  and  he  stood 
contemplating  it  with  a  fascinated  gaze.  Why  should 
ho  not  dare  ?  That  glorious  woman  with  the  placid 
brow  and  the  noble  Junonian  lips  whom  Talbot  had 
ineffectually  striven  to  individualize  on  his  canvas, 
how  could  ho  call  a  world  empty  which  contained  so 


A  QUIXOTIC  QUEST.  79 

wondrous  a  creature?  It  was  a  quixotic  enterprise, 
of  course,  to  start  out  for  a  distant  land  in  the  hope  of 
winning  the  love  of  one  of  whose  very  name  be  was 
ignorant  Who  knew  but  she  might  even  be  married  ? 
But  somehow  he  had  an  ineradicable  conviction  that 
she  was  not  married.  He  had  also  a  dim  instinct  con 
necting  her  with  Crampton's  tragic  end.  Even  Homo 
could  not  contain  two  such  women.  The  "  Delphic 
madness,"  "the  stellar  passion"  of  Crampton  could 
well  have  been  inspired  by  that  face ;  but  hardly  by  any 
other.  He  could  understand  why  a  man,  having  once 
lifted  his  eyes  to  that  divine  visage,  should  court  "a 
blessed  extinction,  rather  than  lounge  through  a  tedious 
eternity,  unillumined  by  the  radiance  of  her  presence." 
And  then  that  strange,  oracular  prophecy,  was  it  a 
mere  delirious  fancy,  or  was  it  founded  upon  a  deeper 
insight  ?  Was  it  not  even  conceivable  that  Crampton, 
just  before  dying,  had  been  endowed  with  the  gift  of 
prophecy  ?  There  were  many  instances  on  record  of 
such  mysterious  divination.  Julian  scouted  this  idea 
the  moment,  it  occurred  to  him ;  but  in  spite  of  all  it 
left  a  joyous  tumult  in  his  blood  and  in  his  nerves  a 
vague  tingling  of  exquisite  anticipation.  He  pulled 
Crampton's  letter  out  of  his  pocket  and  read  with  an 
irrepressible  inward  exultation : 

"  You  are  the  man,  the  only  man  I  know,  who  can 
and  will  win  the  love  of  this  inconceivably  glorious 
woman.  I  don't  ask  you  to  come  now,  for  I  am  not 
magnanimous  enough  to  wish  to  witness  your  triumph. 
But  a  deep  insight  or  instinct  tells  me  that  you  will 
gloriously  conquer  where  I  am  predestined  to  suffer  a 
no  less  glorious  defeat  There  is  no  man  on  earth 
whom  I  can  imagine  seated  at  her  side,  whose  caress 


80         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

would  not  seem  to  be  a  crying  incongruity — an  out- 
rageous  insult" 

Julian  put  the  letter  back  into  his  pocket  and  re 
sumed  his  march  on  the  floor.  But  a  great  light  was 
kindled  within  him — a  light  of  resolution,  confidence, 
and  courage.  His  step  at  once  expressed  his  changed 
mood.  His  apathy  dropped  off  him  like  a  garment. 

"  Governor,"  he  said,  with  a  new  ring  in  his  voice, 
"  I  think  I'll  take  a  flying  trip  to  Europe." 

"  Why,  that's  the  very  thing  Delia  was  wanting  to 
talk  to  you  about.  She  has  taken  an  agency  for  some 
thing  or  other — the  *  anticipation  waist,'  I  think  she 
called  it — and  she  is  going  to  start  for  Europe  in  a 
couple  of  days." 

The  young  man  stopped  abruptly  in  his  walk  and 
confronted  his  father. 

"  Governor,"  he  said,  warningly,  "  don't  try  your 
tricks  on  me.  If  Delia  goes,  I  shall  either  stay  at 
home  or  take  another  steamboat  line." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Jule,  I  never  put  her  up  to  it  I 
have  been  trying  to  make  her  give  it  up.  But  she's 
too  thunderin'  smart  for  me ;  that's  what  is  the  matter 
with  her.  She  corners  mo  in  argument  every  time. 
She  has  mot  eomo  of  those  Woman's  Rights  cusses, 
and  they  have  "put  the  notion  into  her  head,  that  she 
has  got  a  great  mission  to  perform,  in  making  women 
dispense  with  corsets  and  wear  suspenders,  and  I  don't 
know  whether  she  don't  want  them  to  wear  coats  and 
breeches,  too." 

"  And  you  imagine,  governor,  that  I  should  find 
her  a  pleasant  traveling  companion  under  such  cir 
cumstances  ?  " 

"  Well,  even  if  you  didn't,  I  think  it  is  your  duty 


A  QUIXOTIC  QUEST.  81 

to  stand  by  her.  She  is  my  sister's  child  ;  and  any 
way  there  is  no  harm  in  her.  I  don't  want  to  take  the 
responsibility  of  letting  her  leave  my  house  alone  on 
such  an  expedition." 

It  took  a  whole  hour  of  argument  and  persuasion 
to  induce  Julian  to  accept  his  cousin  as  compagnon  de 
voyage ;  and  it  took  another  hour  to  make  Delia  un 
derstand  that  she  was  to  travel  under  Julian's  escort 
and  protection,  and  not  ho  under  hers. 

The  old  man  parted  reluctantly  from  both  of  them, 
but  felt  yet  a  certain  sense  of  relief  in  having  temporarily 
emancipated  himself  from  his  son's  supervision.  He 
had  more  than  half  resolved  to  re-enter  public  life,  and 
meant  ere  long  to  make  himself  felt  as  a  political 
power,  and  take  a  hand  in  the  distribution  of  official 
patronage.  Julian  had  always  compelled  him  to  ap 
pear  a  little  more  respectable  than  he  really  was.  By 
his  aristocratic  associations  and  his  formidable  pro 
priety  of  demeanor  ho  had  imposed  a  standard  of 
speech  and  conduct  upon  his  father  which  to  the 
latter  sometimes  became  burdensome.  Now  he  could 
lapse  back  into  his  old  ways ;  meet  his  poker  club 
without  restraint  in  his  own  library,  play  high,  swear 
moderately,  and  brew  a  stiff  grog  of  old  Scotch  for 
his  cronies.  He  could  even  joke  with  the  servants — 
which  he  never  dared  to  do  when  Julian  was  at  home 
— and  talk  politics  with  his  butler  in  a  truly  demo 
cratic  spirit 

In  spite  of  these  prospective  advantages,  however, 
the  Honorable  Abiel  Burroughs  was  sad  when  he  bade 
his  son  and  niece  farewell  on  the  North  German 
Lloyd  wharf,  in  Hoboken.  Hia  breast  was  agitated  by 
many  emotions,  but  all  he  said,  when  he  shook  handa 


82         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

with  Julian,  as  the  last  whistle  blew,  was  to  impress 
upon  him  the  necessity  of  looking  after  his  baggage, 
as  the  European  system  of  checking  with  ridiculous 
little  slips  of  paper  was  so  much  more  insecure  than 
the  sensible  American  system. 

"  And,  remember  this,  Jule,"  he  added,  looking  at 
the  young  man  with  a  pathetically  worried  look, 
"  don't  you  pick  up  a  wife  over  there — unless  she  be  a 
good  American.  Don't  you  bring  home  any  Dutch  or 
French  or  JStytalian  girl.  You  know  they  don't  like 
our  American  ways,  and  they  never  learn  them." 

"  Don't  you  worry,  uncle,"  answered  Delia,  reassur 
ingly,  "  I'll  look  after  him,  and  see  that  no  bad  French 
or  jEtytalian  girl  nabs  him." 

Julian  responded  to  this  parting  injunction  with  a 
troubled  smile ;  for,  knowing  his  father's  mind  on  this 
question,  he  thought  his  advice  a  trifle  too  transpar 
ent.  But  Delia's  remark  relieved  his  anxiety ;  for  it 
showed  that  they  were  not  in  collusion. 

The  gangway  was  just  being  pulled  in  when  the 
Honorable  Abiel  skipped  across  with  an  alertness  all 
out  of  proportion  to  his  years.  And  they  saw  him, 
as  long  as  the  wharf  was  in  sight,  stand  and  wave  his 
hat,  while  his  straggling  gray  hair  fluttered  in  the 
wind.  i 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
CIRCE'S  SUITORS. 

IT  was  a  little  Renaissance  salon^  or  rather  recep 
tion  room.    Cupids   with  exaggerated    legs  danced 


CIRCE'S  SUITORS.  83 

along  the  frieze,  pelting  each  other  with  roses.  The 
ceiling  was  a  mass  of  florid  and  elaborate  stucco-work, 
which  inclosed  an  open  space,  wherein  Apollo  dis 
ported  himself  with  the  Muses.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  rich  faded  tapestries,  representing  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  in  powdered  wigs  and  in  all  sorts  of 
delightfully  frivolous  attitudes.  Some  were  leading 
white  lambs  by  pink  ribbons,  others  were  drinking  tea 
under  great  trees,  and  others  again  were  making  love 
in  the  dainty,  exquisite,  eighteenth  century  periwig 
style.  There  was  a  quantity  of  superb  Oriental  dra 
peries,  heavy  and  luxurious,  about  the  windows  and 
doors,  which,  from  an  artistic  point  of  view,  were  a 
little  out  of  tune  with  the  walls  and  the  ceiling.  But 
it  is  inconvenient  at  times  to  be  in  harmony  with 
your  walls  when  they  are  as  exacting  as  those  of  the 
Palazzo  Barberini.  There  was  a  fine  historic  atmos 
phere  about  the  place,  an  air  of  faded  grandeur  re- 
upholstered,  a  quaint  rococo  charm,  that  hovered  like 
a  ghost  of  ancient  perfume  through  the  stately  apart 
ment  Apollo  with  his  mythological  drapery  was  such 
a  gay  and  unprincipled  cavalier ;  and  the  Muses  were 
so  coquettish,  .so  unblushing  in  their  nudity,  that  they 
relieved  one  of  all  embarrassment  in  their  behalf. 

Two  men  were  standing  in  this  exquisite  salon, 
each  staring  with  a  blank  and  bored  look  at  the  danc 
ing  cupids  and  turning  his  back  resolutely  on  the 
other.  The  one  was  our  friend  George  Talbot  with 
his  fluffy  yellow  hair,  his  ardent  eyes,  and  his  bright 
complexion.  There  was  a  look  of  excited  expectation 
in  his  glance,  as  he  stood  there  amid  the  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses,  beating  his  leg  with,  his  slender 
cane,  and  crumpling  his  wide-awake  in  his  impatient 


84         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

clutch.  He  had,  by  a  series  of  ingenious  inquiries, 
before  leaving  New  York,  learned  that  the  lady  he 
had  painted  from  the  Roman  photograph  was  Miss 
Constance  Douglas,  and  he  had  succeeded  in  obtaining 
a  letter  of  introduction  to  her  from  his  aunt  Mrs. 
Horace  Talbot,  who  had  spent  the  previous  winter  in 
Rome.  He  had  lost  no  time,  of  course,  after  arriving 
•in  the  Eternal  City,  in  ascertaining  the  whereabouts  of 
the  enchantress,  and  now  here  he  was  in  Circe's  re 
ception  room,  tingling  in  every  nerve  with  blissful  an 
ticipation. 

The  other  occupant  of  the  room  was  a  broad- 
backed,  burly-looking  man,  well  up  in  the  forties,  with 
a  bald  head,  silky-brown  beard,  and  a  florid  complex 
ion.  You  saw  at  once  that  he  was  an  Englishman. 
For  Nature  produces  nowhere  outside  of  the  British 
Isles  such  robust  physical  manhood,  such  ruddy  mas 
culine  necks,  and  such  bad  manners.  Sir  Percy  Armi- 
tage — for  that  was  the  British  gentleman's  name — had 
not  been  two  minutes  in  the  room  before  he  had  man 
aged — without  opening  his  mouth — to  give  the  young 
American  the  measure  of  his  contempt  for  him ;  and 
the  latter  wondered,  in  a  general  way,  what  he  had 
done  to  arouse  the  displeasure  of  the  burly  gentle 
man  in  the  Iqlose-fitting  Tweed  suit.  But  just  as  he 
was  puzzling  his  brain  with  this  unprofitable  query, 
the  door  to  tho  adjoining  room  was  opened,  and  a 
French  chambermaid  entered,  and  remarked,  with  tho 
most  delightful  courtesy,  that  mademoiselle  would  be 
pleased  to  see  him  in  a  few  minutes.  The  English 
man  was  obviously  also  interested  in  this  announce 
ment,  for  he  turned  abruptly  around  and  gazed  first 
at  the  chambermaid  and  then  at  his  watch.  He  then 


CIRCE'S  SUITORS.  85 

seated  himself,  with  unmistakable  signs  of  impatience, 
in  an  easy-chair  which  creaked  under  his  weight,  and 
began  to  poke  the  rug  with  his  walking-stick.  He  got 
up  twice  to  leave,  but  reconsidered  his  intention  and 
sat  down  again.  Even  the  American  could  not,  at  the 
end  of  fifteen  minutes,  forbear  to  look  at  his  watch, 
and  run  his  hand  nervously  through  his  hair.  He 
heard  in  the  next  room  a  rich,  clear  voice  singing  a 
Venetian  barcarole,  with  a  difficult  accompaniment, 
which  was  rendered  with  precision  and  skill.  But  it 
struck  him  that  there  was  a  lack  of  sentiment  in  the 
voice,  in  spite  of  its  superb  purity.  It  was  the  voice 
of  a  sweet  but  unaroused  nature.  He  could  not  doubt 
that  it  was  the  voice  of  Constance  Douglas.  She 
was  having  a  lesson,  apparently,  from  some  famous 
master ;  for  every  now  and  then  a  superb  rich  tenor 
broke  in  upon  her  voice,  repeating  the  passage  she  had 
just  rendered,  and  at  the  end  of  the  performance 
bursting  iuto  voluble  Italian  comment.  But  who  was 
this  Constance  Douglas,  who  made  British  baronets 
— not  to  speak  of  American  artists— cool  their  heels 
by  the  half-hour  in  her  anteroom,  while  she  was  sit 
ting  singing  leisurely  at  her  piano  ?  She  was,  to  be 
sure,  closely  related  to  a  former  President  of  the 
United  States,  and  had  no  end  of  public  men  in  her 
family.  But,  like  all  her  relatives,  she  had  found  her 
self  on  the  wrong  side  in  the  war,  and  had — like 
thousands  of  her  countrywomen — staked  her  all  on  the 
result  She  was  no  longer  an  heiress  now  who  could 
afford  to  snap  her  fingers  in  the  face  of  the  world, 
but  had  managed  to  save  a  trifle  from  the  general 
wreck — just  enough  to  support  gentility,  by  a  good 
deal  of  underground  economy,  in  an  historic  Roman 


86         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

palazzo.  It  was  scarcely  her  beauty  alone,  or  fy&  dis 
tinction  of  her  family,  which  gave  her  the  prestige 
which  she  enjoyed  in  the  Eternal  City.  There  were 
other  women  as  beautiful,  and  of  a  far  more  august 
lineage,  who  had  made  abortive  attempts  to  form 
salons  in  the  old  French  sense;  while  about  this 
stranger  the  salon  formed  itself  without  apparent  effort 
on  her  part.  The  political  and  religions  feuds  which 
divide  Italian  society  now,  as  they  did  in  the  days  of 
the  Montagues  and  Capulets,  presented  no  difficulties 
to  her.  A  Montague  bowed  with  grave  politeness  to 
a  Oapulot,  if  her  eyes  rested  upon  them,  and  the 
Capulot  returned  the  bow  with  elaborate  ceremony. 
Ncrl  *  and  Buzurri  *  rubbed  shoulders  without  visi 
ble  inconvenience,  and  diplomats  accredited  to  the 
Vatican  talked  amicably  with  diplomats  accredited 
to  the  Quirinal,  about  Zola  or  the  figurantes  of  the 
opera.  All  discordant  notes  melted  into  harmony  in 
her  presence;  under  the  charm  of  her  voice  all  the 
wild  beasts  which  prowl  about  in  the  heart  of  man 
went  to  sleep,  drawing  their  claws  back  within  their 
velvet  paws.  No  one  pretended  to  understand  the  arts 
by  which  Constance  Douglas  accomplished  this  mira 
cle,  though  there  was  a  general  unanimity  among  the 
ladies,  outside  of  her  immediate  circle,  that  they  were 
black  arts.  However  that  may  have  been  (for  colors 
are,  after  all,  mere  individual  impressions),  a  simpler 
explanation  en^^osts  itself.  No  one  could  look  at  her 
without  having  hia  whole  vision  filled.  There  was  no 
room  for  other  thoughts  or  impressions,  either  friendly 
or  hostile,  when  she  was  present.  But  there,  the  door 

•  The  papal  and  the  Italian  party. 


CIRCE'S  SUITORS.  87 

is  opened,  the  tawny  portiere  is  drawn  aside.     You 
may  judge  for  yourself.     It  is  she. 

Though  Sir  Percy  and  the  young  American  had 
waited  for  her  for  thirty-five  minutes,  her  coming  was 
unexpected.  She  came  into  the  room  like  a  soft  radi 
ance,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  the  world  was 
changed.  They  had  both  forgotten  that  they  had 
been  angry,  and  if  anybody  had  told  them  they  would 
have  refused  to  believe  it  She  extended  her  hand  to 
Sir  Percy  with  unaffected  cordiality,  asked  for  his 
health,  when  he  had  come  to  Rome,  etc. ;  then  turned 
with  the  same  gracious  friendliness,  in  which  there 
was  yet  a  shadow  of  reserve,  toward  the  younger  man, 
and,  motioning  him  to  a  seat,  addressed  to  him  some 
questions  regarding  his  aunt  Mrs.  Horace  Talbot,  in 
New  York,  from  whom  he  had  brought  a  letter  of 
introduction.  She  apologized  for  having  kept  them 
waiting,  remarking  that  Fra  Giovanni,  the  renowned 
papal  tenor,  was  very  difficult  to  catch,  and,  moreover, 
so  irascible  that  she  feared  he  would  have  flown  into 
a  passion,  if  she  had  dismissed  him  before  the  end  of 
the  hour. 

"And  you  are  a  nephew,  as  I  understand  it,  of 
Mrs.  Horace  Talbot,"  she  went  on,  making  her  gracious 
eyes  beam  upon  the  young  artist,  "  and  you  have  come 
here  to  Rome  to  continue  your  art  studies  ?  " 

u  Yes,  exactly ;  to  be  sure,"  stammered  the  youth, 
in  a  sort  of  happy  intoxication.  He  was  so  absorbed 
in  the  sight  of  her,  so  bewildered  at  her  loveliness, 
that  he  could  not  divert  energy  enough  from  his  vision 
to  pay  proper  attention  to  her  words. 

u  And  you,  Sir  Percy,"  she  continued,  bending  the 


88         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  I  presume  you  are  fresh  from  the  antipodes,  as  usual. 
Did  you  give  my  regards  to  the  Shah  of  Persia,  as  I 
told  you,  and  did  you  tell  the  Maharajah  of  Punjab 
that  I  disapproved  of  the  burning  of  widows  ?  " 

'"  I  did  give  your — aw — regards  to  the  Shah,"  said 
Sir  Percy,  with  a  chuckle.  "  Of  course,  I  knew  you 
were — aw — chaffing ;  but  then,  don't  you  know,  I 
thought  it  was — aw — good  fun,  and  so  I  told  the  Shah 
about  you ;  and  I  shouldn't  wonder — aw — if  he  turned 
up  here  one  of  these  days  and  invited  you  to  become — 
aw — Mrs.  Shah.  He  grew  uncommonly  enthusiastic." 

"  Thank  you.  Toll  him  I  should  like  it  above  all 
things,"  sho  rejoined,  smiling;  "but  I  should  insist 
upon  his  putting  away  all  his  other  wives,  and  that 
might  cause  unpleasantness." 

"  Yes,  perhaps  it  might,  you  know,"  laughed  the 
baronet,  taking  a  large  silk  handkerchief  from  hia 
pocket  and  coughing  into  it. 

"  And  I  hope  you  got  that  rare  nautilus  you  went 
in  search  of?"  she  queried,  with  an  air  of  interest 
which  was  bewitching. 

"The  Nautilus — aw — pompilius,  you  mean;  but 
that  is  not— aw — so  very  rare.  It  was  a  yet  unnamed 
— aw — species  which  a  Dutch — aw— correspondent  of 
mine  at  Madagascar  sent  me  a  drawing  of  that  I — aw 
went  to  get.  Whether  it  is  a  nautilus,  strictly  speak 
ing,  some  scholar — aw — will  have  to  decide.  I  mean 
to  submit  it  to — aw — Huxley  as  soon  as  I  get  back  to 
London." 

*'  And  he  will,  of  course,  have  the  grace  to  name 
it  after  you — Nautilus  Armitagibus^  or  something  like 
that.  How  delighted  I  shall  be  to  see  you  immortal 
ized  in  that  way,  Sir  Percy  t " 


CIRCE'S  SUITORS.  89 

i  if  you  will — aw — pardon  the  correc 
tion,"  ejaculated  the  baronet,  flushed  with  enthusiasm. 
44  You  are  very  kind,  I  am  sure — aw- — Miss  Douglas ; 
and  if  you  will  permit  me  to  show  you  my — aw — treas 
ure  before  leaving  Rome,  I  shall  take  it  as  a  special 
favor." 

"  Why,  of  course.  I  should  have  been  offended  if 
you  had  left  Rome  without  showing  it  to  me." 

14  You  are  so  very  kind,  you  know,  so  very  kind," 
he  murmured,  rising,  and  mopping  his  forehead  with 
his  red  handkerchief. 

44  And  perhaps  you  will  permit  me  to  introduce  to 
you  this  young  countryman  of  mine,  in  order  that  he 
may  have  a  chance  to  share  my  pleasure.  Mr.  Talbot, 
Sir  Percy  Armitage.  Mr.  Talbot  is  an  artist,  and,  as 
I  am  told,  a  very  accomplished  one.  He  has  a  pro 
fessional  interest  in  all  that  is  beautiful." 

The  young  American,  suddenly  collecting  his  scat 
tered  senses,  jumped  up  and  bowed  to  the  baronet. 
He  had  not  heard  a  word  of  the  discussion,  and  did 
not  know  what  he  was  expected  to  admire.  Miss 
Douglas,  perceiving  and  easily  pardoning  his  abstrac 
tion,  was,  however,  prompt  to  give  him  the  clew. 

44  A  nautilus  which  it  has  cost  a  journey  around 
the  world  to  get  is  worthy  of  a  place  in  the  Capitoline 
Museum,"  she  said. 

44 1  should — aw — prefer  the  British,"  observed  Sir 
Percy. 

44 1  should  be  charmed  to  see  it,"  murmured  Talbot, 
44  though,  of  course,  I  am  nothing  of  a  naturalist." 

M  Any  countryman  of — aw — Miss  Douglas  is— aw — 
welcome  to  any  pleasure  which  it  is  in  my— aw — power 
to  bestow,"  said  the  Briton,  in  an  excess  of  gallantry. 


90         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  Take  care,  Sir  Percy.    You  might  repent  of  your 
hospitality." 

"  I  have  no  fear,  madam." 

The  gentlemen  were  both  on  the  watch  for  an  op 
portunity  to  take  their  leave,  when  Hortenso,  the 
piquant  chambermaid,  appeared  with  a  tray  of  Japan 
ese  lacquer,  upon  which  were  two  teapots  and  half  a 
dozen  cups  of  the  daintiest  Japanese  porcelain.    She 
emerged  with  her  tray  from  the  folds  of  the  tawny 
drapery  like  an  attendant  spirit   in  the  "Arabian 
Nights."  who  appears,  when  he  is  needed,  in  response 
to  the  unspoken  wish.    It  was  impossible,  of  course, 
to  resist  tea  of  such  exquisite  flavor,  such  teacups,  and, 
above  all,  such  an  invitation,  so  simply  and  cordially 
spoken.    The  two  men  seated  themselves  again,  and 
their  hostess  took  her  place  at  a  small  table,  conversing 
with  that  beautiful  ease  and  simplicity  which  made 
every  word  she  uttered  in  a  way  remarkable,  while  she 
poured  the  water  on  the  fragrant  leaves  and  waited  for 
the  result  to  declare  itself.    There  was  an  air  of  the 
grande  dame  about  her  which  is  extremely  rare  in  un 
married  women.    It  comes  in  its  perfection  only  to 
f  happy  natures,  satisfied  with  their  surroundings  and 
secure  in  their  dignity.    It  is,  therefore,  that  Ameri 
can  women  so  rarely  attain  it  while  at  home.    And 
yet,  by  transplantation,  they  often  develop  something 
closely  resembling  it.    Not  the  perfect  repose,  perhaps, 
and  lofty  disdain  which  daughters  of  a  hundred  earls 
can  afford  to  exhibit,  but  an  admirable  tact  combined 
with  a  gentle  animation  and  a  gracious  suavity  of  de- 
j  meaner.    It  was  the  combination  of  these  gifts  in  an 
exceptional  degree  which  made  Constance  Douglas  the 
great  social  success  which  she  was  reputed  to  be  in 


CIRCE'S  SUITORS.  91 

Rome.  She  had,  moreover,  a  fine  amplitude  of  person, 
which  never  failed  to  impress.  Men,  no  matter  where 
they  hailed  from,  found  themselves  (metaphorically 
speaking)  in  the  dust  before  her.  All  who  knew  her 
were  more  or  less  in  love  with  her,  and  frankly  avowed 
their  worshipful  homage. 

As  she  sat  there  at  the  tea- table,  with  her  noble 
arms  moving  among  the  dainty  cups,  you  perceived 
that  she  was  no  longer  in  the  first  flush  of  youth. 
That  she  was  past  twenty-five  you  would  have  guessed 
from  her  speech  and  manner  rather  than  from  her 
complexion,  which  was  fresh  and  delicate.  But  a  cer 
tain  experience  is  implied  in  a  grand  air  and  a  noble 
bearing.  Constance  Douglas,  had  gone  abroad  with 
her  mother,  when  scarcely  more  than  a  child,  a  few 
months  after  the  destruction  of  their  plantation  by 
the  Federal  troops.  She  was  prematurely  grown,  be 
cause  of  the  many  responsibilities  which  devolved  upon 
her  during  those  days,  especially  in  connection  with 
the  great  fair  in  aid  of  the  Confederacy  which  was 
held  in  Liverpool  in  the  first  or  second  year  of  the 
war.  Her  father,  who  rose  to  be  a  general,  was  killed 
about  that  time  in  a  cavalry  skirmish,  and  was  duly 
apotheosized  in  the  Confederate  press.  He  was  a 
cool-headed  and  sagacious  man,  who  had  drawn  his 
B word  reluctantly,  but  had  wielded  it  bravely,  when  no 
other  choice  remained  for  him.  This  one  daughter, 
who  resembled  him  as  much  as  a  woman  can  resem 
ble  a  man  without  loss  of  charm,  had  been  his  pet 
and  dearest  companion  from  her  earliest  years.  He 
had  recognized  from  the  first  the  fineness  of  her 
nature,  and  imbued  her  with  respect  for  her  own 
personality.  Her  mother,  who  was  amiable  and  com- 


92         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

monplace,  was  frankly  puzzled  at  the  sensation  Con 
stance  made,  but  accepted  the  general  estimate  of  her, 
and  sank  into  willing  subordination.  Some  women 
are  born  to  be  rulers  and  some  to  bo  slaves,  and  it  is 
|  not  difficult  to  discover  the  category  to  which  each 
belongs.  No  one  whose  opinion  was  worth  anything 
looked  twice  at  Miss  Douglas  without  recognizing  the 
definiteness  and  distinctness  of  her  personality  and 
falling  under  the  spell  of  its  warm,  sweet  radiance. 
Young  Talbot,  who  was  a  very  sensitive  piece  of 
organism,  after  having  absorbed  her  beauty  in  its  total 
ity,  began  to  analyse  it,  feature  by  feature,  as  he  sipped 
his  tea,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  made 
up  of  something  else  besides  features.  Her  blonde, 
wavy  hair,  which  curled  a  little  about  the  temples, 
was  arranged  in  some  simple  manner,  without  any 
visible  striving  for  effect.  And  yet  the  effect,  Talbot 
thought,  was  admirable.  The  firm  and  noble  lines 
which  formed  the  contour  of  her  head  made  him  itch 
to  get  hold  of  his  pencil.  What  a  wretched  botch  he 
had  made  of  her  picture,  to  be  sure,  and  what  unpar 
donable  presumption  to  have  tried  to  paint  such  an 
exquisite  incarnation  of  grace  and  loveliness  from  a 
mere  mechanical  record  of  her  features !  The  day  he 
could  paint  Constance  Douglas  as  he  saw  her  he  would 
refuse  to  take  off  his  hat  to  Ger6me  and  Meissonier, 
and  he  would  sit  down  and  take  a  smoke  on  Parnassus, 
in  the  company  of  the  immortals,  knowing  that  no 
power  on  earth  would  be  able  to  dislodge  iiim.  He 
had  never  seen  so  beautiful  a  head  before ;  or,  on  sec 
ond  thought,  perhaps  he  had,  but  he  had  never  seen 
one  so  superbly  set  upon  the  shoulders,  nor  one  so 
grandly  carried.  In  fact,  the  whole  woman  was  built 


CIRCE'S  SUITORS.  93 

upon  a  grand  scale,  like  a  goddess  revived,  lest  men 
ehould  lose  the  faculty  of  worship.  The  mere  combina 
tion  of  fine  but  not  very  striking  features  was  quite 
inadequate  to  account  for  the  impression  which  she 
made.  Her  forehead  was  rather  low,  or  at  least  ap 
peared  so,  her  nose  straight  and  delicately  fashioned, 
the  curve  of  her  lips  drawn  with  fine  precision,  her 
chin  saved  by  the  soft  freshness  of  her  complexion 
from  appearing  too  energetic.  But,  after  all,  what 
idea  does  this  imperfect  catalogue  give  of  how  she 
really  looked  ?  It  was  the  deep-blue  eyes,  so  calm  and 
gently  radiant,  that  lighted  up  these  pure  but  not  un 
usual  features,  and  a  smile  that  seemed  new  every  time 
you  saw  it,  and  that  dignified  you  in  your  own  eyes 
whenever  it  beamed  upon  you.  Sir  Percy  and  Mr. 
Talbot  both  felt  as  if  they  had  been  taken  into  her 
confidence  by  that  rare  smile,  and  each  felt  convinced 
that  he  possessed  her  favor  in  a  higher  degree  than 
the  other.  Considering  this  fact,  which  disposed  them 
amiably  toward  creation  in  general,  they  concluded  to 
make  a  few  cautious  approaches  to  each  other,  simply 
out  of  regard  for  the  charming  hostess  who  was  re 
sponsible  for  their  acquaintance. 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  I  might  get  you  some  rare 
specimens  of  shells  from  Florida,"  Talbot  ventured  to 
remark,  lifting  his  mild  blue  eyes  shyly  to  the  Eng 
lishman's  hirsute  countenance. 

"  You  are — aw — very  civil,  I  am  sure,"  Sir  Percy 
remarked,  a  trifle  gruffly.  "  I  have  all  the — aw — Flo- 
ridian  shells  already ;  and  unless  you  should — aw — hap 
pen  to  discover  a  new  species,  which  I  don't  suppose 
you  would — aw — be  likely  to  do,  I  really  shouldn't  care 
for  them,  you  know." 


9i         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

Talbot  felt  as  if  he  had  been  slapped  in  the  face, 
and  strove  vainly  to  conceal  his  discomfiture.  Miss 
Douglas,  who  was  quick  to  interpret  the  blush  that 
mantled  his  cheeks,  hastened  to  apply  balm  to  his 
wounded  feelings. 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Talbot,"  she  said,  sweetly,  "  that 
Sir  Percy  has  probably  the  greatest  collection  of  marine 
shells  in  the  world,  and  has  long  since  explored  our 
American  waters.  Now,  I  should  be  perfectly  delighted 
if  you  would  give  me  a  few  specimens  of  your  Florida 
shells,  just  because  they  are  American,  you  know,  and 
from  the  dear  land  of  Dixie." 

It  was  not  only  the  words,  but  the  cordiality  with 
which  they  were  uttered  which  suddenly  raised  the 
young  man  to  a  pinnacle  of  distinction.  He  looked 
down  upon  the  baronet  with  exultation  from  glorious 
heights. 

"  If  you  will  permit  me  to  send  you  the  few  modest 
conchs  which  I  picked  up  two  winters  ago  on  the 
Florida  reefs,"  he  said,  with  happy  animation,  "  I  shall 
be  very  much  pleased." 

"  I  shall  expect  them  surely,  and  I  shall  hold  them 
to  my  ear  in  the  hope  that  they  will  murmur  some 
melody  of  the  Southern  sea." 

"  I  hope  they  will,  I'm  sure ;  but  I  am  afraid  they 
will  disappoint  you.  You  know,  of  course,  I  have  no 
scientific  knowledge  of  shells,  like  Mr. — Mr.  Percy — 
beg  your  pardon — Mr.  Armitage,  I  mean." 

The  poor  fellow  turned  his  eyes  appealingly  to 
Miss  Douglas.  He  knew  he  was  blundering,  but  he 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  call  a  stranger  by  his 
first  name.  He  seemed  to  be  running  his  head  into  a 
noose  in  whatever  direction  he  turned.  Miss  Douglas 


CIRCE'S  SUITORS.  95 

returned  his  glance  with  smiling  sympathy,  and  was 
about  to  speak,  but  was  anticipated  by  Sir  Percy. 

"  You  do  me  more — aw — honor  than  I  deserve,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  no — aw — scientific  interest  whatever  in 
shells.  The  fact  is,  I  was — aw — suffering  from  a  dis 
ease  of  the  liver,  and  my  physician  ordered  me  to  get 
up — aw — some  interest  in  something — aw — or  other, 
just  to  divert  me,  you  know,  and  make  time  pass, 
I  tried  race-horses,  but — aw — got  tired  of  them.  I 
couldn't  help  backing  my  own — aw — beasts,  you  know. 
I  didn't  mind  so  much  the  money  I  lost  on  them ;  but 
the — aw — vexation,  you  know,  the  vexation — that  was 
having  a  bad  effect  on  my  system,  and  I  had — aw — to 
give  them  up." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  Constance  replied,  "  at  your 
giving  up  your  race-horses.  But  those  beautiful  cows 
you  showed  me  at  Donnymere,  three  years  ago — I  can 
scarcely  forgive  you  for  selling  them." 

**  Blooded  cattle,  you  know  are" — aw — an  awful 
bore,"  the  baronet  rejoined,  with  the  emphasis  of  con 
viction.  "  I  tried  Alderneys  first,  but — aw — they  ran 
all  to  cream  and  wasted  money.  They  gave — aw — too 
rich  milk  and  too  little  of  it  to  pay  for  their  feed  and 
care.  I  had — aw — no  better  luck  with  the — aw — Jer 
seys;  and  as  for  the  shorthorns,  I  could  have  mur 
dered  them  before — aw — I  was  done  with  them.  But 
they  spared  me  the  trouble,  for  they — aw — had  an 
unpleasant  habit  of  dying  without — aw — a  moment's 
warning." 

u  But  I  have  a  tender  spot  in  my  heart  for  those 
lovely  cows  yet,"  Constance  declared.  "  If  they  had 
been  mine,  I  should  have  been  tempted  to  go  into 
mourning  for  them," 


96         THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  they  sat  chatting  and 
sipping  tea  and  luxuriating  in  a  vague,  unobtrusive 
felicity  which  it  seemed  a  pity  to  make  an  end  of. 
Sir  Percy  was  waiting  for  Talbot  to  make  the  signal 
for  departure,  and  Talbot  was  waiting  for  Sir  Percy. 
To  tear  one's  self  away  from  the  presence  of  a  woman 
so  perfect  in  face,  dress,  and  manner  requires  a  hero 
ism  of  which  neither  was  possessed.  There  was  a  sweet 
intoxication  in  merely  listening  to  her  voice  and  in  in 
haling  the  aroma  of  her  exquisite  personality.  But 
the  entrance  of  the  maid  Hortense,  carrying  a  silver 
salver  upon  which  lay  a  card  whose  small  size  indi 
cated  that  it  belonged  to  the  masculine  gender,  was 
felt  as  a  discord  and  sufficed  to  break  the  spell. 

Sir  Percy  got  up  with  a  desire  to  strangle  the  gen- 
tleman  who  had  the  impertinence  to  choose  such  an 
inopportune  moment  for  his  call,  and  Talbot  made 
three  efforts  to  detach  himself  from  his  chair.  He 
was  quite  clear  in  his  mind  that  he  would  have  liked 
to  spend  the  rest  of  his  life  in  Miss  Douglas's  compa 
ny  ;  but  he  was  not  at  all  sure  that  she  reciprocated  his 
desire.  With  a  good  deal  of  blushing  and  confusion, 
he  managed,  however,  to  make  his  exit  without  hav 
ing  committed  himself,  and  brushed  in  the  door-way 
against  an  officer  in  a  splendid  French  uniform,  the 
scabbard  of  whose  sword  knocked  against  the  stairs 
at  each  step  he  took.  He  noticed,  too,  that  Sir  Percy, 
who  was  a  few  steps  behind  him,  bowed  to  the  gor 
geous  Gaul  with  a  ferocity  as  if  ho  would  like  to  eat 
him. 

"  That  monkey  of  a  Frenchman ! "  he  muttered  to 
himself,  as  he  descended  the  stairs. 

But  from  within  they  presently  heard,  through  the 


CRAMPTON'S  BEQUEST.  97 

yet  unclosed  door,  Miss  Constance's  voice  greeting  the 
visitor  with  joyous  cordiality. 

41  Count    de    Saint-Reault ! "    she    exclaimed,    in 
French.    "  I  am  pleased  to  see  you." 


CHAPTER  IX. 
CRAMPTON'S  BEQUEST. 

IT  was  early  in  December  when  Julian  Burroughs 
and  his  cousin  arrived  in  Rome  and  installed  them 
selves  in  temporary  lodgings  at  Madame  "Waldbach's, 
on  the  Piazza  di  Spagna.  To  go  into  a  pension  was 
utterly  repugnant  to  Julian ;  but  what  else  could  he 
do  with  a  young  lady  on  his  hands  who  had  a  genius 
for  making  compromising  acquaintances?  To  go  into 
luxurious  bachelor  quarters  with  Delia  was,  of  course, 
out  of  the  question,  and  to  stay  at  a  hotel,  where  she 
would  be  sure  to  commence  her  propaganda  in  favor 
of  the  "  emancipation  waist "  would  be  altogether  too 
embarrassing.  His  inclination  was  to  renounce  all 
responsibility  for  her  and  leave  her  to  her  own  devices ; 
but  somehow  his  conscience  rebelled  against  this  expe 
dient,  without  yet  suggesting  any  other  that  was  less 
liable  to  moral  objections. 

The  Waldbach/?ensuw  was,  indeed,  good,  as  Roman 
pensions  go,  and  the  rooms  which  the  young  Ameri 
can  occupied  were  the  best  in  the  house ;  but  the  cut* 
sine,  which  everybody  else  praised,  tried  his  temper, 
and  the  invariable  grated  chestnuts  with  cream  for 
dessert  aroused  all  manner  of  unchristian  sentiments 
7 


98         THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

within  him.    The  landlady,  who  had  an  immense  re 
spect  for  wealth,  bowed  herself  in  the  dust  before  him 
and  nearly  went  into  hysterics  with  anxiety  to  please 
him.    He  was  the  only  boarder  she  had  ever  had  who 
paid  her  numerous  extras  without  a  grumble  or  a  sin 
gle  word  of  comment,  which  circumstance,  in  connec 
tion  with  the  fact  that  he  wore  gold  buttons  in  his 
robe-dc-nuit)  filled  her  with  abject  admiration.    She 
did  not  even  summon  courage  to  tell  him  of  her  aris 
tocratic  pedigree  and  the  lavish  ways  and  propensity 
for  gambling  of  her  late  husband,  who  had  been  in 
strumental  in  bringing  her  down  in  the  world.  Nor  did 
she  venture  on  sufficient  familiarity  to  confide  to  him 
the  various  proposals  of  marriage  she  had  received 
from  Roman  princes  with  historic  names  and  slender 
purses  who  had  hoped  to  quarter  themselves  on  her 
and  obtain  free  board  during  their  declining  years. 
There  had  never  bcon  a  man  or  woman  before  among 
the   successive  generations  of   Madame  Waldbach's 
boarders  who  had  not  been  favored  with  her  romantic 
autobiography,  and  it  was,  in  the  end,  inflicted  upon 
Julian,  too,  by  the  indiscretion  of  his  talkative  cousin. 
Delia  had  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  regarding  its  authen 
ticity,  and  she  found  it,  moreover,  extremely  entertain 
ing.    All  stories  that  tended  to  the  discredit  of  the 
lords  of  creation  found  in  her  a  stanch  believer.    She 
passionately  championed  the  cause  of  every  woman 
whose  position  in  the  world  was  undesirable,  and  held 
man,  individually  and  collectively,  responsible  for  her 
misfortunes.    She  believed  well  of  every  member  of 
her  own  sex  whom  she  met — provided  she  did  not  as 
sume  a  hostile  attitude  toward  her  gospel  of  emanci 
pation — and,  with  a  beautiful  lack  of  judgment,  sym- 


CRAMPTON'S  BEQUEST,  99 

pathized  with  every  romantic  delusion  or  hysterical 
vagary  that  was  poured  into  her  cars. 

Julian's  first  business  after  having  solved  the  ques 
tion  of  domicile  was  to  hunt  up  Talbot;  but,  for  some 
inscrutable  reason,  Talbot  had  covered  his  tracks,  and 
it  was  next  to  impossible  to  find  him.  Ho  did  not 
know,  to  be  sure,  that  his  friend  was  in  Rome,  and 
could  not,  therefore,  be  regulating  his  movements 
with  a  view  either  to  meeting  or  avoiding  him.  Julian 
inquired  in  vain  both  at  the  American  banker's  and 
at  the  legation,  and  came  at  last  to  the  conclusion  that 
Talbot  had  lingered  somewhere  on  the  way,  or  possibly 
gone  on  some  excursion  in  search  of  the  picturesque 
in  the  Alban  or  Sabine  Mountains.  He  succeeded, 
however,  in  convincing  the  minister  of  his  identity 
and  in  obtaining  possession  of  the  collection  of  paint 
ings  and  bric-a-brac  which  Crampton  had  left  him. 
He  invaded  his  late  friend's  apartments,  which  had 
been  sealed  by  a  magistrate,  until  the  proper  heir 
should  present  himself  in  person  or  by  a  legally  au 
thorized  representative. 

Julian  started  slightly  as,  having  broken  the  seal 
with  the  aid  of  two  officers  of  the  law,  he  entered  the 
little  brick-paved  corridor.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
some  intangible  presence  rose  out  of  the  dusk  to  meet 
him.  A  sepulchral  chill  made  him  shudder,  and  the 
close,  humid  smell  affected  him  unpleasantly.  Ho 
pushed  open  the  door  to  the  sitting-room,  which  was 
also  sealed,  and  crossed  the  threshold  into  a  little  mu 
seum  of  vases,  paintings,  Etruscan  pottery,  bronze 
statuettes,  antique  gems,  and  oljets  de  verlu  of  all 
kinds.  He  made  haste  to  open  the  windows  and  let 
the  sunshine  poor  in.  Though  he  was  not  a  nervous 


100       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

person,  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  impression  that 
his  dead  friend  was  hovering  about  him,  as  if  reluctant 
to  part  with  these  treasures,  which  in  life  had  been  his 
chief  delight.  From  the  windows  there  was  a  view  of 
a  sunny  little  garden,  with  orange-trees,  dark-green 
hedges,  and  tall,  stuccoed  walls.  The  soil  seemed  to 
be  two  or  three  feet  higher  than  the  street  below,  and 
a  shrine  at  the  farther  end,  which  had  once  been  half 
way  up  the  wall,  was  now  on  a  level  with  the  gravel 
walk.  Round  about  the  horizon  was  broken  with  tow 
ers,  domes,  and  spires,  which  had,  to  the  American,  a 
kind  of  pictorial  unreality,  like  a  brilliant  glimpse  of 
fairy  land.  There  was  something  brightly  rigid,  im 
mobile,  and  perhaps  a  little  glaring  in  it,  and  he 
would  not  have  been  surprised  if  it  had  vanished 
to  give  place  to  some  new  scene  of  enchantment.  This 
impression,  however,  lasted  but  for  a  moment.  The 
abundant  light  that  bathed  the  earth  in  a  glare  of 
color  acquired  an  unsuspected  softness  and  sweetness 
in  all  sorts  of  richjy  mellow  gradations  and  semitones, 
the  longer  his  eyes  dwelt  upon  this  incomparable 
panorama  of  earth  and  sky. 

And  here  George  Crampton  had  lived,  loved,  and 
died.  Here  he  had  raved  through  the  last  turbulent 
months  of  his'  life,  wrestled  with  his  passion,  and 
finally  succumbed.  The  air  seemed  charged  with  a 
ghostly  echo  of  his  voice,  and  a  certain  abrupt  ca 
dence  of  his  laugh  haunted  his  friend's  ears  with  un 
comfortable  persistence.  The  thought  of  the  nothing 
ness,  the  futility  of  human  life  overwhelmed  him. 
Why  do  we  live,  if  we  are  to  end  thus  ?  he  asked  him 
self  ;  and  neither  religion  nor  philosophy  suggested  an 
answer.  That  rich  and  lovable  personality  which  bore 


CRAMPTON'S  BEQUEST.  101 

the  name  George  Crarapton,  what  has  become  of  it 
now  ?  What  is  there  to  show  as  the  result  of  those 
thirty  years  of  enthusiastic  activity?  How  could  any- 
thing  so  distinct  and  definite,  so  instinct  with  the 
subtlest  vitality,  so  unlike  anything  else  that  ever  was 
or  probably  will  be,  cease  to  exist,  dissolve  into  earth 
and  air,  evaporate  into  insentient  elements  whether  of 
spirit  or  matter  ? 

Julian  Burroughs  had  never  been  greatly  troubled 
by  these  questions  before.  He  had  lived  on  from  day 
to  day,  absorbed  in  petty  pursuits  and  ambitions,  and 
expended  his  energies  in  devising  new  pleasures  for 
the  morrow.  Polished  and  self-restrained  as  he  ap 
peared  in  his  outward  conduct,  he  had  yet  another 
side  to  his  nature,  which  was  hinted  at  in  his  imperi 
ous  glance  and  the  leonine  cast  of  his  features.  He 
had  a  spark  of  barbarian  untamability,  of  hot  primi 
tive  passion,  in  his  blood,  which  long  subjection  to 
social  conventions  had  half  smothered,  but  which  yet 
could  ilare  up  on  occasions  when  social  restraints  were 
released.  He  had,  at  least,  one  stinging  memory  to 
which  reference  has  already  been  made  ;  and  he  would 
have  given  much  to  have  it  blotted  out  from  his  past. 
Somehow  the  degradation  of  it  did  not  seem  to  grow 
less  with  time.  He  was  yet  writhing  in  hours  of  re 
trospect  with  a  poignant  sense  of  shame ;  and  at  the 
same  time  in  moments  of  reaction  longing  for  the 
old  degrading  relation,  which  had  filled  so  large  a 
part  of  his  life,  and  left,  at  present,  so  glaring  a  void. 
It  was,  perhaps,  an  unconfessed  fear,  that  after  his 
congressional  defeat  he  might,  from  sheer  vacuity, 
drift  back  into  the  arms  of  that  pitiless,  sordid,  and 
vulgarly  beautiful  woman,  which  had  been  a  co-opera* 


102       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

ting  factor  in  his  sudden  determination  to  go  to  Eu 
rope.  But  there  had  been  another  and  nobler  motive 
of  which,  however,  he  was  also  ashamed.  Men  do  not, 
he  reflected,  in  the  nineteenth  century  start  out  on  a 
quixotic  quest  for  beautiful  women  whom  they  have 
never  seen ;  and  when  he,  nevertheless,  had  done  so, 
it  argued  the  presence  of  an  adventurous  strain  in  his 
blood,  which  by  atavism,  he  must  have  received  from 
the  ages  of  chivalry.  He  had  now  come  to  the  cross 
roads  in  his  life  where  he  had  to  make  a  definite 
choice  of  direction  for  good  or  for  ill.  There  had 
been  moments  when,  with  a  limp  despair,  he  had  even 
contemplated  yielding  to  his  father's  wish,  and  mar 
rying  his  cousin,  merely  as  a  refuge  from  himself  and 
a  safeguard  against  temptation.  But  his  better  nature 
had  promptly  rebelled  against  such  an  ignoble  expe 
dient  ;  and  he  straightened  himself  up,  and  resolved  to 
fight  his  battle  alone,  and  drag  down  no  life  but  his 
own,  if  defeat  were  to  be  his  destiny. 

Having  mechanically  signed  half  a  dozen  papers 
which  were  placed  before  him,  Julian  dismissed  the 
bailiffs,  or  whatever  they  were,  seated  himself  with  his 
overcoat  on  in  Crainpton's  easy-chair,  and  surrendered 
himself  to  solemn  reflections.  The  sunshine  poured  in 
through  the  opeii  windows  and  showed  him  to  advan 
tage  the  beautiful  bronze"  Narcissus  "and  the  "  Danc 
ing  Faun  "  which,  stood  vis-a-vis  on  black  basalt  col 
umns,  on  each  side  of  the  door.  The  upper  walls 
were  entirely  covered  with  pictures,  and  there  were 
ebonized  shelves  over  the  lintels  which  exhibited  fine 
specimens  of  black  and  yellowish-brown  Etruscan 
vases ;  while  the  next  room  was  a  blazo  of  beautiful 
color,  produced  by  antique  and  modern  ceramics  of 


CRAMPTON'S  BEQUEST.  103 

most  exquisite  workmanship.    It  was  tho  collecting 
and  classifying  of  these  things  which  had  occupied 
Crampton's  thought,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
else,  during  many  years  of  his  life,  and  there  seemed 
to  be  something  coldly  brutal  in  taking  loveless  posses 
sions  of  treasures  upon  which  so  much  love  had  been 
expended.     There  were  things  here  for  which  many  a 
collector's  mouth  would  have  watered ;  particularly  a 
beautifully  arranged  historical  series  running  around 
the  entire  room,  illustrating  the  evolution  of  the  art 
of  pottery  from  the  Assyrian  sun-baked  bricks  through 
Egyptian,    Greek,  and  Etruscan    transitions  to  the 
French  faience,  Dutch  Delft  ware,  Italian  majolica, 
Sevres  porcelain,  and  Dresden,  Wedgwood,  and  mod 
ern  Chinese  and  Japanese.   Tho  last  piece  in  the  series 
had  a  hole  in  it,  about  the  size  of  a  finger,  from  which 
small  cracks  radiated.    From  an  idle  impulse  Julian 
rose  and  examined  it ;  as  he  moved  it  he  saw  a  pistol 
bullet  which  stuck  loosely  in  the  wall.    He  discovered 
presently  that  the  cretonne  covering  of  the  easy-chair 
in  which  he  had  been  sitting  had  a  large  crimson  stain 
which  some  one  had  ineffectually  tried  to  wash  away. 
While  he  stood  staring  sadly  at  it,  the  sense  of  another 
presence  in  the  room  became  so  acute  that  he  looked 
up  with  a  startled  glance.    He  listened  intently,  but 
the  stillness  about  him  was  profound.    He  felt  a  dull 
heartache ;  an  intolerable  dazed  heaviness  stole  over 
him.    Good  God !  what  a  miserable,  ignoble  creature 
he  was !    This  man  whom  he  had  called  his  friend, 
who,  for  some  inscrutable  reason,  had  lavished  his 
affection  upon  him — in  what  a  pure  atmosphere  of 
artistic  enthusiasm  he  had  passed  his  days  1  of  what 
heroic  devotion  he  had  been  capable !  and  with  what 


104       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

reckless  courage  he  had  ended  his  life,  when  it  refused 
him  the  highest  prize  for  which  he  had  despairingly 
striven !  But  he — Julian  Burroughs — had  wallowed  in 
swinish  ease  and  indulgence.  His  interest  in  art  had 
been  mere  vanity.  He  needed  some  kind  of  brilliant 
upholstery  to  his  sordid  life,  and  he  had  found  it  in 
art.  He  had  never,  like  Crampton,  eaten  dry  bread 
and  salt  for  dinner,  for  weeks,  in  order  to  save  the 
money  for  the  purchase  of  an  Etruscan  vase,  or  a 
bronze  Bacchante,  or  a  rare  intaglio.  He  had  never 
known  the  high  delights  of  an  exquisite  connoiseur- 
ship.  He  had,  in  fact,  known  nothing  high  or  exqui 
site.  He  had  been  a  groveling  earth-worm,  unendowed 
with  starry  vision — a  purblind  bat,  fluttering  about 
with  a  gross  contentment,  catching  insects  in  the 
dark. 

The  tragedy  of  his  friend's  life  lost  its  horror,  and 
grew,  by  comparison  with  his  own,  noble  and  beautiful. 
Crampton's  spirit,  which  was  so  vividly  impressed  upon 
these  objects  and  their  arrangement,  became  a  reproach 
to  Burroughs,  and  made  him  blush  for  his  own  past. 
He  yearned  dimly  for  some  grand  passion,  which,  even 
though  it  were  hopeless,  might  dignify  his  existence 
and  redeem  it  from  its  ugliness  and  base  futility. 


i 

CHAPTER  X. 

ARCADES    A3IBO. 

I  no  not  know  whether  it  was  fate  or  chance  or 
the  common  grudge  against  the  obnoxious  French- 


ARCADES  AMBO.  105 

man  which  drew  Talbot  and  Sir  Percy  together  and 
inclined  them  to  a  few  exchanges  of  frigid  civility. 
Thus,  when  they  met  by  accident,  a  few  days  after 
their  call  upon  Miss  Douglas,  in  a  small  bronze  shop 
in  the  Via  Margutta,  the  baronet  submitted  some  speci 
mens  of  the  craftsman's  art  to  the  young  American 
and  asked  his  opinion  of  them.  Talbot,  in  whose  mind 
Sir  Percy,  with  all  his  disagreeableness,  was  somehow 
associated  with  Mi#s  Douglas,  resolved  to  be  amiable, 
and  gave  quite  an  elaborate  opinion,  which  revealed 
incidentally  his  taste  and  intimate  knowledge. 

"  Why,  to  be  sure,  you  are — aw — rather  clever, 
don't  you  know  ?  "  the  Briton  observed,  with  a  frank 
surprise  which  was  anything  but  complimentary  to  his 
interlocutor. 

Talbot,  who  always  blushed  when  he  did  not  know 
what  else  to  do,  exhibited  a  flaming  and  disgusted  face, 
but  had  no  phrase  in  readiness  wherewith  to  express 
his  displeasure.  Sir  Percy,  on  the  other  hand,  who 
had  meant  to  be  particularly  pleasant,  could  not  un 
derstand  how  ho  had  given  offense. 

"  These  Americans  are — aw — rather  a  queer — aw — 
lot,  uncommonly  queer  lot,"  he  remarked  to  the  bronze- 
worker  as  Talbot  picked  up  his  hat  and  violently  jingled 
the  shrill  little  door-bell  in  his  eagerness  to  be  gone. 

A  few  days  later  they  ran  against  each  other  in  the 
Borghese  gallery  and  had  again  a  little  disagreement ; 
and  before  the  week  had  ended  they  had  had  at  least 
half  a  dozen  encounters.  Sir  Percy  haunted  the  gal 
leries  early  and  late,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  de 
clared  them  to  be  a  bore— a  deuced  bore — and  Talbot, 
who  was  yet  in  the  picturesque  intoxication  which  usu 
ally  comes  in  the  second  or  third  week  of  one's  sojourn 


106       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

in  Borne,  reveled  with  a  glorious  unrestraint  in  the 
beauty  that  crowded  in  upon  him  on  all  hands.  He 
was  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  appearing  fresh,  but 
praised  and  condemned  with  a  heedless  sincerity  which 
to  Sir  Percy  seemed  quite  delightful.  In  fact,  he 
completely  conquered  the  latter's  regard  by  a  piece  of 
eccentricity  which  would  scarcely  have  commended 
him  to  anybody  else's  favor.  They  had  been  spend 
ing  the  morning  together  in  the  Vatican,  Talbot  deep 
ly  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  Raphael's  famous 
loggie  and  stanze,  and  the  baronet  stalking  about  with 
a  bored  air  and  frowning  upon  every  one  who  crossed 
his  path.  They  had  no  intention  of  keeping  company, 
but  as '  they  found  themselves  by  chance  on  the  steps 
at  the  hour  of  closing,  and  it  was  raining  hard,  Sir 
Percy  could  not  well  avoid  offering  the  young  man  a 
seat  in  his  cab. 

"  I  am  much  obliged,"  said  Talbot ;  "  but  I  should 
have  to  take  you  out  of  your  way ;  I  have  to  go  to  the 
telegraph  office." 

44  Never  mind.    I'll  take  you  there,** 

Away  they  rolled  past  the  great  fountain  and  the 
long  colonnade  that  incloses  the  Square  of  St,  Peter, 
and  after  a  short  drive  reached  the  telegraph  office, 
where  the  painter  alighted. 

44  You  won't  take  it  amiss — aw,"  began  Sir  Percy, 
when  after  an  absence  of  a  few  minutes  he  returned, 
44  if  I  ask  you-^-aw — if  you  telegraphed  for  money, 
don't  you  know  ?  Artists,  you  know,  and  that  sort  of 
thing — aw — well,  you  mustn't  be  huffy  about  it,  but  if 
— aw — I  can  accommodate  you  in  any  wuy,  you  needn't 
hesitate  to  let  me  know ;  that  is,  if  you  feel  like  it,  don't 
you  see?" 


ARCADES  AMBO.  107 

Talbot  was  too  vividly  conscious  of  the  Briton's  be 
nevolent  intention  to  be  at  all  huffy,  but,  for  all  that, 
the  patronage  and  condescension  implied  in  this  unso 
licited  offer  of  pecuniary  aid  grated  upon  his  sensibili 
ties,  lie  twirled  his  tawny  mustache  with  nervous  in 
decision,  and  blushed  like  a  peony,  while  he  summoned 
courage  to  stammer :  "  No,  I  thank  you ;  I  don't  need 
money  at  all — or  rather,  I  should  say,  I  have  all  I  want 
for  the  present.  The  message  I  sent  related  to  quite 
different  matters;  in  fact,  it  related  to  Raphael." 

"  Raphael !    Did  you  telegraph  about  Raphael  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  telegraphed  to  the  fellows  of  our  club  at 
home  that  I  was  disappointed  in  him." 

"  You  cabled  to  America  that  you  were — aw — dis 
appointed  in  Raphael ! " 

Sir  Percy's  amazement  knew  no  bounds.  He  leaned 
forward  with  an  eagerness  not  often  seen  in  his  apa 
thetic  features,  and  scrutinized  the  young  artist's  face 
with  vivid  interest 

"You  know,  the  fellows  at  home  set  some  store 
by  my  opinion,"  Talbot  explained,  struggling  with  his 
embarrassment,  "and  it  is  the  night  of  their  monthly 
meeting ;  they  will  get  it  just  in  time." 

'*  Yes,  yes — I  shouldn't  wonder,"  obsenred  the  bar 
onet  "  And  the  fellows,  you  say,  set  store  by  your — 
aw— opinion.  Well,  now — aw — since  we  are  talking 
about  it,  so  do  I.  And  wouldn't  you— aw — come  and 
dine  with  me  to-night,  if  you  have  nothing  better? 
And  then — aw — you  will  tell  me  too — don't  you  know? 
— why  you  are  disappointed  in  Raphael." 

Although  he  had  not  the  least  inclination  to  ac 
cept,  Talbot  vainly  hunted  in  his  brain  for  the  proper 
phrases  wherewith  to  decline,  and,  failing  to  find  them, 


108       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

murmured  something  which  sounded  like  "thanks'* 
and  "honor,"  and  which  could  mean  nothing  but 
acceptance.  He  had,  accordingly,  no  choice  hut  to 
present  himself  at  the  appointed  hour  at  the  Palazzo 
Altemps,  where  the  baronet  had  a  superb  apartment, 
which  he  rented  by  the  year.  "Whether  it  was  the 
wine  he  drank  or  the  mere  artistic  aroma  of  the 
magnificent  high-ceiled  rooms  which  went  to  Talbot's 
brain,  it  was  undeniable  that  his  capricious  use  of  lan 
guage  had  something  peculiarly  kindling  about  it,  and 
Sir  Percy  was  completely  fascinated.  He  made  him 
talk  without  ceasing,  drew  him  out  by  all  sorts  of  in 
genious  questions,  and  incited  him  to  controversy  by 
contradiction. 

44  Those  fishermen  of  Galilee,"  the  young  enthusi 
ast  exclaimed,  in  his  fiery  indictment  of  Raphael's  art, 
44  what  sort  of  fish,  I  should  like  to  know,  could  they 
have  caught  with  those  ample  academic  robes?  If 
you  over  caught  a  bluo-fiah  on  a  trolling-lino,  or  a 
black  bass  with  a  grasshopper  on  your  hook,  you  will 
admit  the  absurdity  of  the  costume  of  Raphael's  apos 
tles.  But  they  are  only  surpassed  in  absurdity  by  the 
faces.  Men  with  such  noble,  pensive  brows,  such  phil 
osophic  melancholy,  do  not  take  to  fishing  for  a  liv 
ing;  and.  if  they  did,  they  would  starve  at  it.  Their 
classic  features  would  become  furrowed,  scratched,  and 
weather-beaten.  ,  And,  I  confess,  to  me  they  would  be 
far  more  beautiful  if  the  wind,  the  sun,  and  the  rain 
had  put  the  stamp  of  toil  and  suffering  upon  them. 
But  the  whole  academic  art  is  a  falsehood  from  begin 
ning  to  end — a  beautiful  lio  which  the  nations  believed 
in  as  long  as  there  wore  men  among  them  whose  genius 
sufficed  to  vitalize  the  lio,  to  fill  it  with  their  own  blood- 


ARCADES  AMBO.  109 

red  personalities.  Therefore  I  like  Michael  Angelo's 
colossal  conceptions,  even  if  they  bo  lies,  better  than 
Raphael's ;  because  the  man  behind  them  is  so  great 
that  you  care  for  nothing  except  his  stupendous  self — 
his  mighty  thought  that  sprang  into  being  in  stone 
and  marble  and  color." 

"  I  swear,"  remarked  Sir  Percy,  when,  long  after 
midnight,  he  took  leave  of  his  transatlantic  guest,  "  I 
would  take  my  oath  on  it  that  I  never  met  a  cleverer 
fellow  than  you  in  all  my  life.  I  have  been  pretty 
much  everywhere — don't  you  know  ? — but  men  and — 
aw — women  are  about  as-  stupid  in  China  as  they  are 
in  London,  and  in  Kamchatka  as  in  Paris.  But  you 
— I'd  take  my  oath  on  it — you  are — aw — you  are  un 
commonly  clover.  You  must  dine  with  me  soon  again, 
and  I'll  have  some — aw — pleasant  people  here  to  meet 
you." 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  curious  friendship, 
which  so  long  puzzled  the  Eternal  City,  between  Sir 
Percy  Armitage,  Bart.,  and  the  young  and  obscure 
American  George  Talbot,  Esq.,  whose  career  forms  a 
not  unimportant  portion  of  the  present  narrative.  It 
was  but  a  few  days  after  the  above-recorded  meeting 
that  the  painter  was  induced  to  take  up  his  quarters 
in  the  Palazzo  Altemps,  where  he  fared  sumptuously 
and  entertained  his  host  by  his  iconoclastic  opinions. 
He  inspected  the  famous  collection  of  marine  shells 
which  had  cost  its  proprietor  a  moderate  fortune,  and 
which  had  kept  him  for  several  years  in  a  spasmodic 
vacillation  between  the  antipodes.  Most  people  hear 
ing  of  his  good  fortune  envied  him,  and  there  was  but 
one  who  expressed  regret ;  and  that  was  Miss  Douglas. 


HO       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 
CHAPTER  XL 

M 

AMONG   TIIE   DEAD. 

IT  was  about  a  week  after  his  removal  to  the  Pa 
lazzo  Altemps  that  George  Talbot  received  a  card  in 
forming  him  that  Mrs.  and  Miss  Douglas  would  be  at 
home  every  Wednesday  afternoon  from  January  1  until 
April  1 — an  announcement  which  filled  his  breast  with 
conflicting  emotions.  He  had  about  made  up  his 
mind  that  Miss  Douglas  was  too  absorbing  a  creature 
to  admit  of  a  divided  allegiance.  A  man  could 
scarcely  cultivate  the  arts  and  her  at  the  Hume  time. 
He  would  have  to  take  his  choice  and  abide  by  it 
That  it  would  bo  folly  for  him  to  aspire  for  the  love  of 
BO  queenly  a  woman,  accustomed  to  universal  homage, 
was  a  reflection  which  in  his  saner  moments  often 
invaded  the  young  man's  mind.  But  the  old  proverb, 
44  Nothing  venture,  nothing  win,"  seemed  so  very  ap 
propriate  in  this  connection  that  he  could  not  afford 
to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  faint  whisper  of  hope  which 
it  contained.  He  had  walked  about  in  a  state  of  fever 
ish  uneasiness  during  the  last  week,  nursing  all  sorts 
of  wild  plans  whereby  to  attract  the  world's  attention, 
and  thereby  Miss  Douglas's  favor.  But  there  was 
always  a  hitch  in  all  of  them  which  made  it  seem  ad 
visable  to  postpone  their  execution  to  a  more  conven 
ient  time.  He  was  so  occupied  with  these  fantastic 
schemes  that  he  forgot  his  promise  to  Burroughs  to  take 
cLi^jjo  of  tho  Crampton  collection,  and  ship  it  to  New 
York,  Things  which  had  no  relation  to  Miss  Douglas 
had  to  him  no  reality.  And  when  he  remembered 


AMONG  THE  DEAD. 

that  he  had  actually  given  his  word  to  Burroughs  to 
help  him  identify  his  fair  unknown,  and  perhaps  even 
smooth  the  road  for  an  acquaintance,  his  whole  soul 
rebelled  against  such  generous  folly,  and  he  began  to 
exert  himself  to  find  excuses  for  not  keeping  his 
promise.  He  found  it  impossible  to  work  while  this 
frame  of  mind  lasted,  and  therefore  placed  himself  en 
tirely  at  Sir  Percy's  disposal,  roaming  with  him  over 
the  Campagna,  and  visiting  Tivoli,  Frascati,  Tuscu- 
lum,  and  all  the  delightful  villages  in  the  Alban  and 
Sabine  Mountains.  It  was  during  one  of  these  idle 
rambles  that  they  happened  to  enter  the  ghastly  crypt 
of  the  Capuchin  monastery  where  the  mummified 
corpses  of  dead  monks  stand  in  niches  along  the  walls, 
and  skulls,  teeth,  shoulder-blades,  and  thigh-bones,  ar 
ranged  in  architectural  designs,  curdle  one's  blood 
with  their  hideous  object  lessons  in  mortality.  Sir 
Percy,  who  had  once  contemplated  a  collection  of  simi 
lar  mortuary  relics  to  be  artistically  arranged  in  his 
private  chapel  at  Donnymere,  was  talking  laborious 
and  incorrect  Italian  with  the  monk  who  acted  as  their 
guide,  being  anxious  to  know  whether  the  monastery 
(considering  the  fact  that  the  Italian  Government 
would  be  sure  to  confiscate  the  collection  sooner  or 
later)  might  not  be  induced  to  sell  out  at  a  reasonable 
price,  and  have  the  skeletons  and  the  soil  from  Jeru 
salem  exported  to  England,  where  the  good  brothers 
would  have  a  much  better  chance  of  an  undisturbed 
sleep  while  awaiting  the  summons  of  the  last  trump. 
The  monk,  who  was  accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  queer 
propositions  from  Englishmen,  smiled  blandly,  but  re 
fused  to  commit  himself. 

**  I  suppose  the  old  fellow  expects — a 


THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

himself  to  decorate  the  vault  with  his— aw — ribs  and 
legs  and  empty  eye-sockets,"  Sir  Percy  remarked  in 
English  to  Talbot,  who  stood  lost  in  contemplation  of 
a  hooded  corpse,  whose  fleshless  hands  and  nose  were 
protruding  from  the  sacred  soil. 

"  It  is  more  likely  he  has  staked  his  soul's  salvation 
on  the  chance  of  sleeping  for  a  while  in  the  soil  of 
Golgotha,  until  a  later  claimant  comes  and  ousts  him," 
said  the  American.  "  Those  monks  often  have  pecca 
dilloes  on  their  conscience  which  require  heroic  treat 
ment." 

"  Thin  it  is  a  moighty  slim  chance  Oi  have,  sorr," 
the  monk  remarked,  in  the  broadest  Irish  brogue. 
44  'Tis  the  guverrnmint  of  the  infidel  usurrpers  won't 
allow  no  more  burrials  insoide  the  walls  at  all,  at 
all." 

He  turned  with  an  air  of  deep  disgust  toward  the 
door,  which  was  being  opened  from  the  outside,  admit 
ting  a  broad  stream  of  sunlight,  in  which  the  illumi 
nated  dust  danced.  A  tall,  fine-looking  girl,  accom 
panied  by  a  grave,  dark-complexioned  gentleman,  en 
tered,  and  advanced  with  brisk  and  rather  masculine 
stride  toward  the  friar.  She  wore  a  brown  ulster,  with 
big  owl's-head  buttons,  stylishly  made,  but  a  trifle 
loud;  and  her  ^pretty  blonde  head  was  adorned  with  a 
rakish-looking  hat  of  picturesque  originality.  The 
friar  stared  with  candid  amazement  at  this  startling 
phenomenon,  and  put  her  down  mentally  as  an 
American.  Her  escort  was  attired  in  a  black  Prince 
Albert  coat  and  trousers  of  a  small  black  and  white 
check.  He  carried  a  light-brown  spring  overcoat  on 
his  arm,  and  in  his  hand  a  stout,  gnarled,  silver-headed 
cane  of  the  latest  fashion.  His  handsome,  dark- 


AMONG  THE  DEAD.  113 

bearded  face  had  a  troubled  air,  and  his  eyes  looked  as 
if  he  had  spent  a  sleepless  night 

"  Cousin  Jule,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  bold,  but  not  un- 
melodious  voice,  "  what  did  you  take  me  into  such  a 
nasty  place  for?  I  don't  like  dead  folks,  especially 
when  they  stand  up  on  end,  and  pretend  to  be  socia 
ble." 

44  I  think  it  is  a  very  interesting  place,"  her  com 
panion  retorted ;  "  at  all  events,  it  is  one  of  the  places 
which  you  can't  afford  to  miss  seeing.  It  gives  one  an 
awful  sense  of  worthlessness — of  cheapness  and  perish 
ability — to  see  one's  self  turned  into  lintels  and  door 
posts  and  architectural  ornaments.  "Well,  life  is  hor 
ribly  cheap,  any  way." 

"  Oh,  don't  preach  to  me,  Jule,"  the  girl  exclaimed, 
with  a  laugh,  which  resounded  strangely  in  the  sepul 
chral  vault.  "  You  know  it  is  no  good.  Who  did  you 
say  these  interesting  gentlemen  are  ?  " 

"  Capuchins." 

"Yes,  I  see  they  have  got  caps,  but  I  don't  think 
their  chins  are  much  to  brag  of." 

She  laughed  again,  and  lifted  her  umbrella  as  if 
to  poke  one  of  the  defunct  friars  with  the  end  of  it 
Her  companion,  whose  sobriety  seemed  a  rebuke  to 
her  levity,  quickly  seized  her  wrist  and  held  it  in  a 
tight  grip. 

"  Delia,"  he  said,  sternly, "  do  not  carry  your  antics 
too  far.  You  know  I  am  responsible  for  you." 

44  Well,  I  like  that ! "  she  ejaculated,  with  a  saucy 
fling  of  her  head.  "If  you  are  responsible  for  me, 
Jule  Burroughs,  you  have  a  pretty  big  contract  on  your 
hands,  I  tell  you." 

She  took  a  little  swaggering  promenade  in  front 
8 


THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE, 

of  the  great  wall  of  skulls,  as  if  to  assert  her  inde 
pendence,  and  then,  returning  to  her  mentor,  coolly 
observed : 

" 1  should  like  these  gentlemen  better,  Jule,  if  they 
had  a  little  more  flesh  on  their  bones." 

"  I  should  like  you  better,"  he  retorted,  u  if  you 
would  kindly  restrain  your  flippancy  a  little." 

Talbot,  who  had  been  standing  with  Sir  Percy  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  crypt,  with  his  back  to  the  new 
comers,  had  listened  with  surprise  and  embarrassment 
to  this  colloquy.  He  had  instantly  recognized  the 
voice  of  the  irrepressible  Delia ;  and  at  the  sight  of 
Burroughs,  the  thought  flashed  through  his  brain  that 
he  had  entirely  neglected  the  commission  with  which 
he  had  charged  him.  A  dim  suspicion,  too,  arose  in 
his  mind  that  Julian's  infatuation  with  the  portrait  of 
Miss  Douglas  might  have  something  to  do  with  this 
otherwise  unaccountable  Roman  pilgrimage. 

"  Countrymen  of  yours,  apparently,"  said  Sir  Percy, 
with  that  quiet  satisfaction  which  an  Englishman  feels 
when  an  American  shows  himself  to  disadvantage. 

"  Yes,  apparently,"  sighed  Talbot 

•'  Do  you  know  them  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do — that  is,  I  have  met  them.  The 
girl  is  a  horror.1  I  have  not  yet  looked  at  her,  but 
her  style  is  unmistakable." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  Miss  Saunders — Cordelia  Saunders,  known  to  the 
newspapers  as  the  Beautiful  Heathen.  She  is  a  dress- 
reformer,  temperance-lecturer,  woman-suffragist,  and 
I  don't  know  what  not  -She  has  written  a  book  on  the 
Mormons,  with  her  picture  with  a  high  man's  collar 
on,  as  a  frontispiece."  Talbot  was  aware  that  it  was 


AMONG  THE  DEAD.  115 

not  a  noble  sentiment  which  possessed  him.  He  hoped 
in  some  way  to  sneak  out  unobserved.  For  he  knew 
that  if  he  had  to  face  Burroughs  there  was  no  escape 
from  the  necessity  of  making  him  acquainted  with 
Miss  Douglas.  And  to  prevent  this  he  was  resolved 
to  exert  all  the  arts  of  his  diplomacy.  Knowing  what 
ho  did  of  Julian's  past,  having  received  proof  of  his 
disposition  toward  Miss  Douglas,  and  feeling  his  own 
inferiority  in  point  of  physique  and  worldly  station, 
he  could  scarcely  be  expected  to  snuff  out  his  own 
hopes  by  introducing  so  formidable  a  rival. 

Miss  Saunders,  who  in  her  promenade  had  ap 
proached  the  two  gentlemen,  was  suddenly  struck  with 
the  resolute  and  uncomprising  look  of  the  large  and 
the  small  back  which  they  presented  to  her.  She  saw 
at  once  that  there  was  an  intention  in  their  unnatural 
immobility,  and  guessed  easily  what  that  intention 
was.  The  spirit  of  deviltry  was  aroused  in  her,  and 
she  stationed  herself  behind  them  and  viewed  them 
with  exaggerated  interest.  Sir  Percy's  broad  figure, 
arrayed  in  a  rough  Tweed  sack-coat  and  trousers,  his 
red,  angry-looking  neck,  covered  with  fine  hair  which 
here  and  there  grew  in  capricious  little  curls,  his  stout 
legs  wide  apart,  and  his  hands  thrust  into  his  coat- 
pockets,  seemed  to  her  a  very  epitome  of  Great  Britain, 
while  Talbot's  imitation  of  the  attitude  on  a  smaller 
scale  seemed  no  less  characteristically  American. 

"Are  these  two  part  of  your  collection?"  she 
asked  the  Irish  monk,  in  her  loud  voice,  pointing  at 
the  two  backs  with  her  umbrella, 

"  No,  mum ;  not  as  I  know  of,  mum,"  replied  the 
friar,  curbing  his  Hibernian  wit,  which  suggested  quite 
a  different  answer. 


116       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  Jule,"  she  continued,  turning  to  her  companion, 
who  was  again  at  her  side,  "  you  don't  think  there  is 
any  chance  of  my  selling  any  of  my  emancipation 
waists  to  any  of  these  gentlemen?  On  the  whole,  I 
think  they  are  dressed  in  a  very  sensible  fashion.  I 
have  no  reform  to  suggest  except  in  their  manners." 

Sir  Percy,  who  a  moment  ago  had  been  bristling 
with  dignity  and  anger,  found  this  remark  so  droll 
that  he  had  to  laugh. 

"  She  is  rather  clever,  don't  you  know  ?  "  he  whis 
pered  to  his  protege.  "  Suppose  we  turn  around  and 
walk  out  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not,  if  you  don't  mind,"  Talbot 
replied,  blushing  furiously. 

"  Well,  why  not?  "  Sir  Percy  urged  ;  "  she  is  very 
good  fun,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

Before  the  young  man  had  time  to  answer  he  heard 
his  name  pronounced  in  a  loud,  surprised  staccato. 

"  Why,  Georgie> Talbot ! "  cried  Miss  Saunders,  en 
thusiastically,  grasping  his  hand  and  shaking  it  as  if 
she  meant  to  shake  it  off.  "  I  am  delighted  to  see 
you.  Why,  it  rejoices  my  soul  to  see  your  good 
American  face,  even  though  your  hair  is  parted  in  the 
middle." 

44  Yours,  I  presume,  is  parted  on  the  side,"  he  an 
swered,  with  a  feeble  smile ;  4<  so,  of  course,  I  had  no 
other  expedient  left  to  indicate  my  sex  by." 

44  Good  for  you,  Georgie !  Why,  you've  grown 
quite  smart  since  I  saw  you  last." 

44  Permit  me  to  suggest  that  it  is  you  who  have  ac 
quired  greater  penetration." 

44  Now,  that  is  not  bad,  either.  In  fact,  it  is  rather 
good.  Why,  George  Talbot,  I  haven't  appreciated  you 


AMONG  THE  DEAD.  117 

properly.  We  must  see  a  good  deal  of  each  other  this 
winter.  I  am  staying  at  Madame  Waldbach's,  on  the 
Spanish  Piazza— isn't  that  it?  You  know  where  that 
is?" 

«  Yes,  I  know." 

"  I  am  at  home  pretty  much  every  evening,  and 
shall  be  expecting  you  real  soon." 

44  Thank  you.     I  shall  be  sure  to  call." 

44  And  your  friend  there— if  you  want  to  bring  him 
along,  he  is  welcome." 

Talbot,  although  he  hud  been  standing  on  needles, 
expecting  some  such  breach  of  etiquette,  was  so  shocked 
that  he  scarcely  knew  what  to  answer.  He  was  de 
termined  to  save  Sir  Percy  an  undesirable  acquaint 
ance,  even  at  the  expense  of  his  own  politeness,  and 
was  just  framing  some  transparent  excuse,  when,  to 
his  astonishment,  the  baronet  stepped  up,  as  if  to  par 
ticipate  in  the  conversation.  He  had  then,  of  course, 
no  choice  but  to  introduce  him. 

"JSir  Percy  Armitage,  Miss  Saunders,"  he  mur 
mured,  gazing  from  the  one  to  the  other,  and  wonder 
ing  what  the  world  was  coming  to. 

44  Pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Miss  Saun 
ders,"  said  Sir  Percy,  stiffly. 

44 1  knew  you  were  an  Englishman  the  moment  I 
put  my  eyes  on  you,"  exclaimed  Cordelia,  unabashed. 
"  Our  American  gentlemen  never  have  such  necks  and 
such  backs;  at  least  it  isn't  the  part  of  themselves 
they  are  proud  of  and  want  to  show  off." 

A  gleam  of  amusement  lighted  up  Sir  Percy's 
eyes,  and  he  chuckled  again.  He  saw  the  point  of  her 
sarcasm  well  enough,  but  he  chose  not  to  notice  it 

44  Yes,  your  climate  — aw— is  rather  drier  than 


118       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

ours,"  he  remarked,  in  his  heavy  drawl.    "  It  does  not 
develop  a  sturdy  physique." 

"  Yes,  and  our  habits  are  drier,  too,"  she  retorted. 
"  We  don't  drink  so  much." 

"  I  wasn't  aware  of  that.  I  thought— aw— your 
national  pride  was  based  largely  on  your  mixed  drinks. 
At  all  events — aw — I  found  it  so  when — aw — I  was  in 
America,  three  years  ago." 

"  You  evidently  got  into  bad  company,  Mr,  Armi- 
tage.  You  know  mixed  society  is  quite  as  destructive 
of  morals  as  mixed  drinks." 

"  Next  time  I  go,  I  shall — aw — with  your  permis 
sion,  put  myself  in  your  charge,  and  you  will — aw — 
inform  me  where  I  can  study  the  national  manners  to 
advantage." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted.  You  know  I  have  recently 
taken  the  European  agency  for  the  emancipation 
waist,  which  is  to  take  the  place  of  the  tight  and  ru 
inous  corsets  with  which  women  now  undermine  their 
health.  If  I  could  have  an  English  baronet  in  tow,  it 
would  be  worth  a  hundred  thousand  as  an  advertise 
ment." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  that,  you  know..  But — aw — I 
am  not  sure — aw — that  I  should  relish  being  appre 
ciated — aw — in  the  light  of  an  advertisement." 

They  kept  up  this  international  sparring  for  some 
minutes,  Delia  chuckling  to  herself  at  the  thought  of 
how  she  was  shocking  the  Englishman,  and  the  Eng 
lishman  amiably  resolved  not  to  be  shocked.  The 
young  lady's  freedom  of  manner  and  girlish  bravado 
amused  and  interested  Sir  Percy,  and  he  was  charita 
bly  inclined  to  make  all  possible  allowance  for  her, 
considering  her  origin. 


AMONG  THE  DEAD.  119 

Julian  had  in  the  mean  while  advanced  and  shaken 
hands  with  Talbot. 

"  What  the  deuce  have  you  been  doing  with  your 
self,  old  man?"  he  exclaimed;  "I  have  hunted  for 
you  with  a  lantern  in  every  hole  I  could  think  of,  and 
not  a  trace  of  you  have  I  found.  Not  even  the  minis 
ter  knew  anything  about  you." 

"  No,  I  haven't  called  upon  him  yet,"  said  Talbot, 
dryly. 

"  Well,  would  you  mind  giving  an  account  of  your 
self  ?  I  am  rather  curious." 

"  Oh,  well — I  have  been  strolling  about  in  search 
of  the  picturesque,  you  know,"  the  painter  replied, 
with  forced  indifference ;  "  I  have  been  out  at  Tivoli 
and  Castel-Gandolfo  and  Genazzano,  and  I  don't  know 
where  I  haven't  been.  I  was  like  a  man  who  had 
starved  for  a  century,  and  devoured  with  a  wild  avid 
ity  every  thing  that  came  in  my  way." 

"And  the  commission  I  charged  you  with  —  I 
don't  suppose  you  have  found  time  to  attend  to 
that?" 

"No,  really,  Burroughs;  I  don't  think  that  was 
quite  fair  on  your  part.  I  have  been  a  good  many 
queer  things,  no  doubt,  but  I  draw  the  lino  there.  I 
positively  refuse  to  be  your  postilion  &  amour" 

"  I  wasn't  aware  I  had  ever  asked  any  such  service 
of  you,"  Burroughs  replied,  with  ominous  gravity. 

"  Well,  it  was  that  portrait,  you  know,  or  the  origi 
nal  of  it,  I  should  say ;  and  you  wanted  me  to  find  out 
who  it  was— wasn't  that  it  ?  " 

Talbot  was  no  diplomatist,  and  his  air  of  lofty  un 
concern  was  too  transparent  to  deceive  any  one.  His 
blush,  too,  betrayed  him,  and  a  certain  floundering  in- 


120       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

security  in  his  manner  showed  how  uncomfortable  he 
was. 

"You  need  tell  me  nothing  more,  Talbot,"  said 
Julian,  with  pitying  superiority ;  "  you  have  seen  the 
lady,  and  you  want,  if  possible,  to  prevent  me  from 
seeing  her." 

A  sudden  manoeuvre  on  Delia's  part  happily  ab 
solved  Talbot  from  answering.  She  turned  with  her 
usual  abruptness  to  her  cousin,  and  said : 

44  Jule,  isn't  it  true  that  a  lot  of  English  lords  have 
gone  into  the  dry-goods  and  butcher  business  in  the 
United  States?" 

Burroughs  was  on  the  whole  not  ill  pleased  at  her 
interruption,  and  he  answered,  rapidly,  taking  care 
only  to  address  her : 

"No,  I  think  you  are  mistaken.  But  there  are 
several  noblemen  who  are  engaged  in  cattle-raising 
out  in  Montana." 

44  Oh,  yes ;  that  was  what  I  was  referring  to.  Ex 
cuse  me,  Mr.  Percy,  this  is  my  cousin,  Mr.  Burroughs, 
of  New  York.  You  mustn't  mind  his  rather  savage 
looks.  He  has  just  been  running  for  Congress,  and 
been  defeated." 

Julian,  though  showing  displeasure  at  the  uncere 
moniousness  of  the  introduction,  lifted  his  hat  and 
made  a  stiff  bow  to  Sir  Percy. 

44 1  am  pleased  to  make  your — aw — acquaintance. 
Mr. — aw — Burroughs,"  drawled  the  baronet,  returning 
the  bow  with  equal  superciliousness. 

It  was  a  little  embarrassing  to  resume  the  thread 
of  the  jocular  conversation  after  this  awkward  episode, 
and,  prompted  by  a  simultaneous  impulse,  all  began  to 
move  toward  the  door.  Sir  Percy  gave  a  lira  to  the 


AMONG  THE  DEAD.  121 

monk,  as  he  emerged  into  the  daylight,  and  received 
in  return  his  blessing.  He  then  dumfounded  Talbot 
by  inviting  Miss  Saunders  and  her  cousin  to  occupy 
the  vacant  seats  in  his  carriage,  and  by  betraying  an 
interest  in  the  lady's  slangy  remarks  which  seemed 
quite  incomprehensible.  The  mere  fact  that  she  was 
pretty  could  scarcely  account  for  such  eccentric  con 
duct  on  the  part  of  a  middle-aged  gentleman  who  was 
nothing  short  of  an  oracle  in  matters  of  etiquette. 
Miss  Saunders  was  apparently  twenty-five  or  twenty- 
six  years  old,  and,  though  rather  loud,  was  neither  in 
dress  nor  appearance  vulgar.  Whether  she  herself 
wore  the  emancipation  waist  from  which  she  prom 
ised  herself  svch  untold  blessings  to  the  race,  could 
not  by  a  superficial  view  bo  determined ;  but  her  tailor- 
made  ulster  fitted  very  snugly  about  her  tall,  handsome 
form,  and  her  boots  were  so  neat  and  shapely  that 
you  felt  tempted  to  shako  hands  with  them.  She  had 
blonde  hair  and  a  good  complexion,  but  her  most  dis 
tinctive  feature  was  her  pale-blue  eyes,  with  that  chal 
lenging  stare  in  them,  which  turned  their  inquisitive 
light  with  the  same  irreverent  scrutiny  upon  whatever 
came  in  their  way.  In  the  whole  cut  and  expression 
of  her  face  there  was  something  unshrinking,  unveiled, 
and  frankly  resolute.  It  might  have  been  a  handsome 
boy's  face,  except  for  the  lips,  whose  soft  curve  was 
feminine.  You  saw  that  she  had  set  out  in  an  advent 
urous  mood  to  conquer  the  world,  and  that  she  an 
ticipated  no  great  difficulty  in  accomplishing  her  pur 
pose.  With  all  her  audacity,  she  was  clothed  in  inno 
cence  as  in  a  garment  Even  Sir  Percy,  though  he 
was  no  great  philosopher,  had  not  talked  long  with 
her  before  he  perceived  that  she  was  touching! y  igno- 


122       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

rant  of  the  world  which  she  was  challenging  to  battle,' 
He  even  began  to  suspect  that  she  misbehaved  from 
principle,  or  at  least  exaggerated  her  disregard  of  so 
cial  forms  for  the  purpose  of  asserting,  in  the  name  of 
her  sex,  her  contempt  for  them.  Sir  Percy  admitted 
to  himself,  as  he  sat  opposite  to  her  in  his  cab,  listen 
ing  to  her  glib,  reckless  talk,  that  he  did  not  dislike  • 
her  half  as  much  as  he  had  expected.  She  refused 
to  be  classified,  of  course,  and  it  was  impossible  to  pick 
out  any  social  sphere  to  which  she  belonged.  But  then 
that  was  a  peculiarity  she  had  in  common  with  the 
majority  of  her  countrymen,  who  were  impossible, 
from  the.  English  point  of  view,  and  yet,  considered 
from  any  other  point  of  view,  not  only  possible,  but 
both  clever  and  entertaining.  Sir  Percy,  being  at 
present  abroad  and  bent  upon  amusement,  resolved  in 
a  mild  and  harmless  way  to  cultivate  Miss  Saunders. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  CHARMING  TETE-A-TETE. 

GEORGE  TALBOT  was  enjoying  the  felicity  of  a 
tete-ct-tete  with  Miss  Douglas  in  the  little  Renaissance 
reception  room.  There  were  a  hundred  things  he 
would  have  liked  to  tell  her,  but  her  beauty  stupefied 
him  like  strong  wine  and  made  him  incoherent  and 
distracted.  All  sorts  of  daring  speeches  trembled  on 
the  tip  of  his  tongue,  but  when  he  attempted  to  utter 
them  they  turned  out  to  be  feeble  and  commonplace, 
and  quite  different  from  what  he  had  intended.  He 


A  CnARMINQ  TfiTE-A-TfiTK  123 

knew,  of  course,  that  it  would  bo  absurd  to  talk  to  her 
of  love  on  so  short  an  acquaintance,  but  he  had  an  idea 
that  it  would  not  be  amiss  if  he  could  convey  to  her 
an  impression  of  his  profound  and  abject  admiration, 
without  yet  trespassing  on  forbidden  territory.  Her 
gentle  affability,  which  was  yet  so  full  of  reserve,  made 
him  suspect  a  long  experience  in  warding  off  tender 
avowals.  She  was  purposely  obtuse,  because  she  did 
not  wish  to  understand.  She  treated  him  with  a  sort 
of  elder-sisterly  kindness  which  was  quite  exasperat 
ing.  She  was  obviously  sorry  for  him,  and  wished  to 
be  spared  the  necessity  of  wounding  his  feelings.  Ho 
half  regretted  that  he  had  come ;  for,  of  course,  it  was 
absurd  to  court  refusal  by  a  premature  avowal  of  his 
passion.  But  in  his  eagerness  to  anticipate  Burroughs, 
who,  he  doubted  not,  would  find  the  means  of  identi 
fying  his  fair  unknown,  and  approaching  her,  he 
could  not  summon  a  sufficiently  judicial  frame  of  mind 
to  coolly  weigh  the  risks.  He  was  in  a  constant  fever 
of  anxiety  lest  Constance  by  some  chance  should  make 
his  rival's  acquaintance ;  for  it  began  to  dawn  upon 
him  gradually  that  Burroughs  had  made  this  journey, 
not  on  account  of  Delia's  emancipation  waist,  but 
with  the  definite  purpose  to  find  the  original  of  Miss 
Douglas's  portrait  If  such  was  the  case,  how  could 
he  hope  to  thwart  him  ?  Burroughs  was  a  man  who 
was  not  easily  balked  in  anything  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  do.  Talbot's  only  prospect  of  success  lay 
evidently  in  utilizing  the  brief  respite  which  was  left 
to  him,  before  his  friend  should  get  on  the  track  of 
the  game  he  was  hunting. 

And  yet— -and  yet — there  were  moments  when  Tal- 
bot  felt  the  utter  futility  and  ignominy  of  such  a 


124:       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

course.  His  ears  burned  with  shame  at  the  thought 
of  the  despicable  rdle  he  was  playing.  It  was  of  little 
use  that  he  told  himself  a  hundred  times  a  day  that 
all  is  fair  in  love  and  war ;  there  was  an  instinct  or 
conscience  within  him  which  told  him  that  that  which 
he  was  doing  was  not  fair.  If  she  had  suspected  that 
he  had  broken  his  word,  and  by  all  sorts  of  petty  arts 
was  preventing  a  man  from  approaching  her,  because 
of  his  advantages  over  himself,  would  she  have  pro 
nounced  such  conduct  noble  ?  "Would  she  regard  his 
love  as  a  sufficient  excuse  for  such  faithlessness?  Ho 
did  not  dare  to  submit  the  question  to  her  decision, 
for,  of  .course,  he  know  what  that  decision  would  be. 
He  had  exalted  moments,  too,  when,  with  a  kind  of 
tragic  grandeur,  ho  took  Burroughs  by  the  hand  and 
conducted  him  into  the  beloved  one's  presence,  made  a 
noble  speech,  bristling  with  the  sublimest.  sentiment 
and  heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  the  fair  one's  head, 
then,  with  a  last  ineffable  glance  at  her  divine  face, 
turned  away  and  plunged  out  into  the  black  night 
of  despair.  He  tried  repeatedly  to  brace  himself  for 
some  such  lofty  line  of  action,  but  the  sober  second 
thought  spoiled  the  pathos  of  the  thing  and  turned  it 
into  farce.  He  would  have  to  adhere  to  the  prose 
rule  of  conduct,  of ter  all,  and  look  out  for  his  own  in 
terests  with  the  sordid  vigilance  of  common  sense. 

In  the  mean  while,  ho  enjoyed  the  anxious  felicity 
of  breathing  the  same  air  that  she  breathed ;  of  hear 
ing  the  mellow  music  of  her  voice;  of  sniffing  the 
vitguo  whiHa  of  jaarniuo  that  were  wafted  toward  lain 
whenever  she  moved.  Ho  luxuriated  in  the  sight  of 
her  noble,  placid  face  and  her  exquisitely  tasteful  cos 
tume,  lie  would  have  boon  at  a  loss  to  describe  it ; 


A  CHARMING  T^TE-A-T^TE.  125 

but  the  general  effect  was  that  of  rich  and  ancient 
lace,  and  warm,  subdued  colors  harmoniously  blended. 
Her  arms,  which  were  half  visible  through  the  sleeves, 
struck  him  with  wonder,  they  were  so  firm  and  white, 
and  the  little  dimple  in  the  wrist  emphasized  the  per 
fection  of  their  modeling.  The  clear,  warm  shadow  of 
her  chin  upon  the  little  glimpse  of  neck  which  was 
bared  made  him  almost  shiver  with  delicious  appreci 
ation.  He  reveled  in  the  sight  of  her,  yet  was 
strangely  impressed  with  her  remoteness,  her  precious- 
ness,  her  august  dignity,  by  virtue  of  a  beauty  which 
seemed  exalted  above  common  humanity. 

"  I  hear  from  Sir  Percy,"  she  was  saying,  obviously 
to  make  conversation,  "that  you  are  so  charmingly 
situated  in  the  Palazzo  Altemps.  I  atu  told  your 
studio  is  quite  a  museum  of  mediaeval  armor,  Eastern 
rugs,  and  bric-a-brac." 

"  Eastern  rugs — yes,  quite  so,"  murmured  he,  lost 
in  contemplation. 

"  And,  now,  I  suppose,  you  are  preparing  to  lay 
siege  to  Rome  and  take  it  by  storm." 

"  No.  Oh,  no  ;  I  have  no  hostile  intentions  what 
ever,"  he  replied,  with  burning  ears.  He  was  beginning 
to  suspect  that  he  was  surpassing  himself  in  assininity. 

"  It  would  not  be  the  first  time  the  barbarians  have 
conquered  the  Eternal  City,"  she  observed,  with  that 
radiant  smile  which  always  put  his  apprehensions  to 
flight  It  was  so  warm,  so  satisfying,  so  reassuring,  so 
expressive  of  interest  and  kindly  feeling,  that  all  tort 
uring  doubt  and  fear  and  jarring  emotions  evapo 
rated  in  it  like  dew  in  the  sunshine.  As  Count  de 
Saint- Result  (an  avowed  adorer  of  Miss  Douglas)  \-e- 
markcd,  it  would  make  the  damned  forget  their  woes. 


120       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

It  was  a  sufficient  equipment  for  success  both  in  this 
world  and  in  the  world  to  come,  for  it  could  only  be 
long  to  a  noble  and  exquisite  personality. 

44 1  was  a  little  afraid,  Mr.  Talbot,"  she  began,  after 
a  pause,  "  that  it  would  not  be  for  your  good  to  bo  too 
closely  associated  with  a  rich  and  eccentric  man  like 
Sir  Percy.  You  know  I  believe  independence,  even  if 
coupled  with  poverty,  to  be  a  precious  thing,  and,  if 
you  will  allow  mo  to  bo  frank  with  you,  I  have  just  a 
foolish  little  fear  that  you  will  not  bo  able  to  assert 
your  personality  in  the  presence  of  Sir  Percy,  if  you 
have  to  look  up  to  him  as  your  benefactor." 

She-  gazed  sweetly  at  him  with  her  gontlo  eyes,  and 
there  was  such  a  world  of  kindliness  and  sympathy  in 
her  word«  tlmt  tho  young  man  could  not  holp  being 
touched.  A  warm  current  of  emotion  gushed  through 
his  veins,  and  he  felt  irresponsibly  and  irrationally 
happy.  With  an  effort  he  aroused  himself,  ran  his 
fingers  through  his  hair,  and  walked  abruptly  to  the 
window.  Ho  was  not  aware  at  tho  tirno  that  tho  view 
from  that  window  is  famous.  And  to  Talbot  it  did 
not  matter,  for  he  scarcely  saw  anything  of  what  he 
was  looking  at.  He  turned  about  at  the  end  of  a 
minute  or  two,  feeling  "  clothed  and  in  his  right 
mind." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Miss  Douglas,"  he  said, 
with  a  desperate  effort  to  clear  his  thoughts,  as  his  eyes 
again  rested  upon  her,  "  to  feel  any  apprehension  on 
my  account.  I  have  no  fear  myself  of  losing  my  per 
sonality  in  that  of  Sir  Percy.  Tho  fact  is,"  ho  added, 
rockU'i  ./ly,  "  my •  personal ily  ia  lont  ulr.ciy.1y.  My  h?\irt, 
my  rcuson,  my  very  soul,  is  lost,  but  it  is  not  Sir 
Percy's  fault." 


A  CHARMING  TfiTR-A-TfiTE.  127 

He  had  half  expected  her  to  ask  whose  fault  it 
was,  but  for  eome  reason  she  betrayed  no  curiosity  to 
know,  lie  felt  a  wild  need  to  tear  his  hair,  to  rend 
his  clothes,  as  the  Israelites  of  old  did  when  the  world 
went  against  them,  or  to  make  "some  other  violent 
demonstration  of  despair.  But  her  clear,  calm  voice 
(which  was  not  a  whit  less  kindly  than  before)  again 
soothed  his  agitation  and  made  him  cry  out  to  the 
gods  to  make  him  behave  rationally. 

"  That  is,  on  the  whole,  a  very  wholesome  feeling," 
she  said,  in  response  to  his  dithyrambics,  "  and  I 
should  be  sorry  for  an  artist  who  was  incapable  of  the 
emotion  which  you  describe.  It  shows  that  you  have 
intensity  of  feeling  —  that  you  are  capable  of  great 
things.  I  like  to  hear  a  young  man  talk  in  that 
strain,  for  it  is  rare  to  find  one  nowadays  who  has 
heart  and  is  not  afraid  of  showing  it." 

Talbot  felt  that  if  he  stayed  a  moment  longer  he 
would  be  sure  to  do  or  say  something  which  would 
compel  her  to  dash  his  hopes  to  the  ground.  And,  as 
even  the  vaguest  and  absurdest  kind  of  uncertainty 
was  preferable  to  the  pitiless  certainty,  he  was  unwill 
ing  to  challenge  tho  Fates.  As  he  got  up  to  take  his 
leave  he  chanced  to  see  his  face  in  the  mirror,  and  it 
gave  him  quite  a  shock.  His  cheeks  and  forehead 
were  not  scarlet,  but  almost  purple,  and  his  feat 
ures  had  a  look  of  excitement  which  suggested  in 
sanity.  And  opposite  to  him  in  the  mirror  stood  she, 
placid  as  a  goddess,  and  as  unattainable.  She  was 
smiling  affably — a  trifle  condescendingly,  he  thought 
— and  it  flashed  through  his  mind  that  he  was  but  one 
of  a  long  procession  of  victims  who  had  immolated 
themselves  upon  her  altar.  Ho  was  not  the  first  nor 


128       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

would  he  be  the  last.  There  was  poor  Crampton  who 
had  blown  his  brains  out  for  love  of  her ;  and  yet  she 
stood  there  serene  as  Juno,  with  the  same  divinely  dis 
tracting  smile.  During  that  brief  instant  she  ap 
peared  almost  hateful  to  him,  like  a  cruel,  heartless 
Circe  who  sat  with  her  adorable  face  feasting  upon 
broken  hearts.  But  when  he  bade  her  adieu,  and  held 
her  hand  in  his,  the  warm  thrill  of  her  touch  went 
rippling  through  his  frame,  and  by  the  time  he  had 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  the  vision  of  her 
loveliness  rose  again  before  his  fancy,  and  ho  was  ready 
to  do  penance  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  for  his  disloyal 
thought. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  MELODIOUS  INTERLUDE. 

JULIAN  found  the  Fates  distinctly  unpropitious  in 
his  search  for  his  fair  unknown.  But  that  was,  per 
haps,  more  his  own  fault  than  that  of  ,the  Fates.  For 
he  set  about  his  quest  with  many  misgivings ;  not  with 
the  happy  unscrnpulousness  of  a  conqueror.  There 
was  a  slow,  uneasy  ferment  in  his  blood ;  an  intol 
erable  self-disgust  alternating  with  a  yearning  desire 
for  a  true  and  unmistakable  love,  with  its  idealizing 
glamour  of  beauty  and  romance.  It  was  not  the  mere 
vague  dreaming  of  amorous  youth ;  but  the  revolt  of  a 
man's  bettor  nature  against  an  unworthy  past  and  a 
crying  out  of  a  deep  eternal  need  which  is  implanted 
in  every  truo  man's  heart.  There  was  a  good  deal  of 


A  MELODIOUS  INTERLUDE.  129 

self-deception,  no  doubt,  in  the  interest  with  which  he 
surrounded  his  fair  unknown ;  and  it  was  the  suspi 
cion  that  such  was  the  case  which  made  him  frequent 
ly  pause  in  his  quest.  He  was  inclined  to  believe,  at 
times,  that  he  was  simply  deluding  himself,  and  with 
the  zest  for  romantic  hallucination  which  is  more  par 
donable  at  twenty  than  at  thirty,  coquetting  with  feel 
ings  which  were  long  since  extinct.  But  then,  just  as 
he  was  on  the  point  of  acquiescing  in  this  conclusion, 
the  glorious  face,  with  all  its  sweet  dignity,  would  rise 
in  dewy  freshness  out  of  his  memory,  and  kindle  his 
fancy  with  new  ardor. 

Rome  in  its  present  shrunken  state  is  so  small  a 
place  that  there  is  slight  chance  for  any  one  of  any 
consequence  to  remain  hidden.  And  a  woman  so  beau 
tiful  as  the  one  Burroughs  was  in  search  of  must,  of  ne 
cessity,  be  a  person  of  tremendous  consequence  in  any 
community.  The  stars  could  not  rise  and  set  without 
being  conscious  of  her  presence ;  moreover,  there  was 
the  Pincio,  where  Roman  beauty  passed  in  daily  review 
before  Roman  valor,  or  what  there  was  left  of  it.  Ju 
lian  betook  himself  thither  every  sunny  afternoon,  and 
gazed  until  his  eyes  ached  at  the  fair  occupants  of  the 
carriages,  but  none  did  he  see  that  remotely  resembled 
the  one  whose  image  filled  his  soul.  He  lounged  about 
under  the  stone-pines  and  cypresses,  blew  his  cigar- 
smoke  into  the  marble  faces  among  the  trees,  which, 
by  their  multitude  cheapen  glory,  strolled  under  the 
chestnuts  and  ilexes  at  the  Borghese  Gardens,  doffed 
his  hat  to  her  smiling  Majesty  Queen  Marguerita,  who, 
with  her  scarlet  footmen  and  outriders,  enlivened  tha 
solemn,  dark-green  monotony,  invaded  the  fine  historic 
villa,  and  stared  the  serene  goddesses  out  of  oounte- 


130       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

nance  in  an  absent-minded  search  for  one  who  persist 
ed  in  eluding  him. 

Two  weeks  had  passed  in  this  way  since  Julian  ar 
rived  in  Rome,  and  Christmas  was  at  hand.  He  went 
to  bed  Christmas  Eve  with  the  resolution  to  take  the 
American  minister  or  the  secretary  of  legation  into 
confidence,  or  seeming  to  do  so,  and  by  ingenious 
cross-questioning  find  out  who  the  lady  was  who  haunt 
ed  his  dreams.  But  it  occurred  to  him,  after  a  while, 
that  the  minister  might  possibly  take  him  for  a  fool, 
as  among  his  multifarious  duties  that  of  conducting 
the  love  affairs  of  his  traveling  countrymen  was  not 
included.  But  in  a  confidential  chat  over  a  glass  of 
wine  he  could  scarcely  fail  to  elicit  some  valuable  gos 
sip  from  the  secretary,  who,  he  understood,  was  an  en 
cyclopedia  of  fashionable  intelligence  and  the  hero  of 
several  piquant  experiences.  Curiously  enough,  it  did 
not  for  a  moment  occur  to  him  to  address  himself  to 
Talbot,  who,  he  reasoned,  by  his  contemptible  conduct, 
had  forfeited  all  claim  to  respect.  It  was  easy  enough 
to  conjecture  how  that  vivacious  little  contortionist 
was  now  basking  in  bliss,  deceiving  himself  with  an  in 
sane  hope,  and  glorying  in  the  privileges  from  which 
he  imagined  that  his  rival  would  remain  excluded. 
Julian  had  a  serene  sense  of  superiority  to  him  which 
relieved  him  of  all  uneasiness.  Ho  even  felt  a  little 
sorry  for  him,  as  he  might  for  the  foolish  moth  that,  in 
spite  of  repeated  siugeings,  keeps  returning,  with  a 
sublime  infatuation,  to  the  flame  which  must  become 
his  destruction. 

He  was  just  dozing  into  an  uneasy  semi-slumber,  in 
which  these  fancies  kept  revolving  in  misty  proces 
sions,  when  the  chimes  of  the  Trinitd  de'  Monti  began 


A  MELODIOUS  INTERLUDE.  131 

to  make  a  tuneful  noise.  In  another  minute  the  Santa 
Maria  Maggiore  broke  in  with  her  deep,  heavy  base ; 
and  before  he  could  clear  his  thoughts,  the  air  shook 
and  trembled,  far  and  near,  with  a  joyfully  confused 
jangle  of  large  and  small  bells.  There  were  some  jolly 
little  treble  chimes  which  simply  went  mad  with  exul 
tation,  pouring  forth  a  perfect  flood  of  delirious  sound ; 
and  there  were  more  sedate  bells  which  clanged  away, 
with  more  regard  for  appearances,  at  the  heavier  middle 
notes ;  while  far  away  in  the  distance  the  monster  bell 
of  St  Peter  tolled  forth  its  deep  colossal  notes,  which 
solemnly  lifted  its  protecting  shield  over  all  the  minor 
tumult, 

Julian  lay  and  listened  for  a  long  while  to  this 
harmonious  jangle,  which  rose  and  fell  with  a  fitful 
rhythm  under  the  nocturnal  sky.    IIo  knew  that  it  was 
futile  to  attempt  to  sleep,  and  he  therefore  wrapped 
himself  in  his  dressing-gown,  opened  the  window  and 
looked  out  upon  the  moon-flooded  city.     There  were 
many  other  windows  open,  and  he  saw  disheveled  heada 
studding  the  fa9ades  of  the  stuccoed  houses.    Down 
on  the  square  below  the  fountain  was  playing,  flinging 
its  white  spray  to  catch   the   shimmering  light  of 
the  moon.    A  dozen  models  and  beggars,  some  awake 
and  some  asleep,  were  scattered  up  and  down  the  Span 
ish  Stairs ;  and  beyond  a  jagged  expanse  of  glittering 
roofs  from  which,  here  and  there,  a  church-tower  loomed 
against  the  sky.    The  Pincio  and  the  Borghese  Gardens 
traced  themselves  in  misty  remoteness  upon  the  horizon. 
Presently  the  bells  dropped  off  into  silence,  one  after 
another,  while  some  perverse  laggard  kept  banging  away 
alone,  and  from  an  equally  perverse  sympathy  half  a 
dozen  others  started  in  again  with  fresh  energy. 


132       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

Julian  listened  to  this  mighty  resonance,  filling 
earth  and  sky,  without  much  emotion.  It  had  some 
thing  alien  and  panoramic  in  it  which  deprived  it  of 
half  its  impressiveness.  It  was  not  to  him  a  grand 
outburst  of  joy  at  the  Savior's  birth ;  it  brought  no 
message  of  peace  on  earth  and  good  will  to  men. 

"Die  Botschaft  hor'  ich  wohl"  he  quoted  from 
«  Faust,"  "allein  mirjehlt  der  Glaube." 

He  seemed  to  himself  stolid,  earthy,  impenetrable 
to  any  ray  of  spiritual  light.  A  kind  of  stony  callous 
ness  settled  upon  his  spirits,  through  which  a  vague 
sense  of  pain  trembled.  He  envied  those  who  could 
weep  and  wail  and  rave ;  who  could  throw  off  that 
leaden  weight  of  self-consciousness  and  conventional 
restraint  which  strangle  the  emotional  life  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race.  There  was  something  dimly  la 
boring  within  him — a  burrowing  discontent — an  ach 
ing  soreness,  which  diffused  itself  indistinctly  through 
his  soul,  and  made  him  shrink  from  the  rough  shocks 
of  the  very  experience  for  which  he  was  hungering. 
As  ho  was  ou  the  point  of  oloaing  the  window,  whon 
the  bells  had  long  been  silent,  a  low,  muffled  sound 
fell  upon  his  ear,  and  he  leaned  once  more  out  over 
the  sill.  As  it  came  nearer,  he  distinguished  the  sol 
emn  cadence  of  a1  Latin  funeral  chant  rudely  intoned 
by  a  company  of  monks.  He  presently  saw  a  pro 
cession  of  black-robed,  black-hooded  friars  coming  up 
the  street ;  some  croaking  and  some  crooning,  without 
much  articulation,  the  stern  words  of  the  ancient 
hymn.  The  foremost  ones  carried  a  coffin  upon  their 
shoulders,  and  the  rest  followed  with  a  shuffling, 
shambling  gait,  droning  out  the  monotonous  rhythm 
of  the  mournful  melody. 


A  GLIMPSE  OP  THE  GODDESa  133 

Julian  who  was  unacquainted  with  the  strange 
custom  of  the  Italians  to  surrender  their  dead,  as  soon 
as  the  last  breath  is  drawn,  to  some  religious  order, 
gazed  with  wonder  at  this  strange  nocturnal  proces 
sion.  The  rude  funeral  chant  impressed  him  much 
more  than  the  joyous  commotion  of  the  bells;  and 
long  after  he  had  retired  to  bed,  the  solemn  cadence 
kept  ringing  in  his  ears. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A   GLIMPSE  OF  THE   GODDESS. 

THE  next  morning  the  sunny  Roman  sky  was  again 
filled  with  a  joyous  commotion  of  bells,  and  Julian  ac 
cepted  their  invitation  and  betook  himself  to  church. 
He  invited  Delia  to  accompany  him,  but  was  not 
sorry  when  she  declined.  She  had  an  engagement 
with  Sir  Percy  who  had  offered  to  take  her  on  a  round 
of  all  the  principal  churches,  show  her  the  miracle- 
working  Bambino  at  St.  John  Lateran,  and  the  rep 
resentation  in  wax  of  the  Nativity  at  the  Fra  Coeli. 
Julian  accordingly  strolled  up  the  Via  Sistina  alone, 
and  emerged  suddenly  from  the  old  Rome  into  the 
new,  which  parades  in  the  most  modern  millinery  and 
in  shining  equipages  along  the  Via  Nazionale.  It 
was  mostly  the  foreign  colony  which  disported  itself 
here,  this  Christmas  morning,  in  purple  and  fine  linen 
and  a  sprinkling  of  Italian  officers  who  moved  along  the 
sidewalks,  creaking  and  clanking  with  leather  and 
metal,  studying  the  bright  faces  of  American  heiressea. 


134       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

Ambassadors  in  heavy  barouches,  with  glaring  foot 
men  and  gay  armorial  bearings,  came  bowling  along 
tho  smooth  avenue,  and  now  and  then  a  glimpse  was 
caught  of  a  scarlet- robed  cardinal  through  the  window 
of  a  closed  coupe. 

It  was  a  beautiful  pageant,  so  vividly  modern,  so 
brilliant,  so  Parisian.  And  yet,  scarcely  a  stone's 
throw  from  these  glaring  rectangular  fronts,  with  their 
pitiless  newness,  slumbered  the  ancient  Rome  in  mel 
low  dignity  and  decay,  with  her  burden  of  bloody 
memories. 

Julian  had  never  known  such  a  feeling  of  forlorn 
wretchedness  as  ho  did  this  day,  among  the  cheerful 
throng,  constantly  exchanging  greetings.  Ho  was 
glad  when  ho  reached  the  church,  simply  to  escape  his 
oppressive  sense  of  loneliness  in  the  midst  of  the  alien 
crowd.  It  was  the  new  Episcopal  church  which  at 
tracted  all  these  gayly  colored  birds  of  passage,  not 
only  because  it  was  in  a  religious  sense  alive,  but  also 
because  it  was  the  mos't  fashionable  Protestant  church 
in  Home.  It  was  a  stately  Renaissance  edifice,  richly 
decorated  with  stone  and  wooden  carvings,  aureoled 
saints,  and  stained-glass  windows.  It  had  a  luxurious 
ecclesiastical  air  about  it  which  was  highly  impressive. 
The  altar  was  one  ! gorgeous  mass  of  flowers,  and  the 
columns  were  wreathed  in  cypress  and  holly.  The 
organ  was  just  beginning  a  vague  premonitory  rumble, 
when  Julian  entered  and  was  conducted  by  an  usher 
to  a  seat  half-way  up  the  middle  aisle.  The  high,  clear 
treble  of  the  boy  choristers  was  heard  in  tho  distance, 
chanting  with  a  quick,  joyous  rhythm  a  Christmas 
hymn.  Tho  congregation  arose,  the  organ  rolled  forth 
volumes  of  exultant  sound,  and  the  white-robed  pro- 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  GODDESS.  135 

cession  came  into  view  and  distributed  itself  in  the 
pews  on  each  side  of  the  chancel.     At  that  moment — 
which  has  ever  since  remained  indelibly  stamped  upon 
Julian  Burroughs's  memory — just  as  he  raised  his  eyes 
from  the  hymn-book,  he  felt  something  dawn  upon  his 
startled  vision — a  face,  a  wonderful  woman's  face — full 
of  sweetness  and  light  and   stately  innocence.      He 
needed  no  second  glance  to  convince  himself  that  his 
quest  was  at  an  end.     She  moved  past  him  slowly,  with 
a  noble  grace  and  serenity,  which,  like  the  shining 
mists  that  enveloped  the  goddesses  of  ancient  fable, 
were  instinct  with  a  rare  and  lovely  personality.     Be 
side  her  walked  a  big,  fine-looking  officer,  in  French 
uniform,  and  with  half  a  dozen  orders  on  his  breast. 
His  spurs  clicked,  and  all  his  resplendent  accoutrements 
seemed   to   emphasize  the  advantages  of   his  robust 
physique.    He  stepped  with  evident  care,  so  as  to  avoid 
getting  entangled  in  the  lady's  drapery,  and  he  carried 
his  sheathed  sword  in  his  left  hand  with  the  same  ob 
vious  intent  to  avoid  collisions.     Burroughs  had  to 
look  twice  to  convince  himself  that  this  obnoxious 
creature  (for  he  was  instantly  filled  with  repugnance  to 
the  dazzling  Gaul)   was  attached  in  the  capacity  of 
escort  to  his  fair  unknown.    It  suggested  so  many  tort 
uring  possibilities.     But  what  a  transcendent  phe 
nomenon  she  was  1    How  nobly  erect,  how  simple  in 
her  bearing,  and  yet  how  impressive!     There  was 
none  of  that  raw  girlishness  and  blankness  of  expres 
sion  which  are  attractive  only  in  the  inginue.   But  a  cer 
tain  suggestion  of  finished  worldly  affability — a  union 
of  sweetness  and  dignity,  which  was  altogether  irresisti 
ble.    She  lifted  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  they  met 
Julian's.   He  would  have  been  happy  if  she  had  shown 


136       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

but  the  faintest  embarrassment  or  any  consciousness  of 
the  intensity  of  his  glance.  But  she  passed  on  calmly ; 
and  not  even  a  blush  or  a  quickened  pace  betrayed 
that  she  was  aware  of  his  existence.  And  yet  it 
seemed  impossible  that  she  had  not  seen  him.  His 
head  was  in  a  whirl.  His  heart  beat  tumultuously.  A 
fine  intoxication  pervaded  his  blood.  He  felt  as  if  his 
whole  being  had  been  tuned  up,  and  was  vibrating 
with  a  sense  of  harmony.  It  was  marvelous,  after  she 
had  passed  out  of  sight,  how  the  strains  of  the  joyous 
hymn  rang  and  reverberated  in  his  soul.  He  became 
conscious  of  a  sensitiveness  which  he  could  scarcely 
account,  for.  The  familiar  words  of  the  Christmas 
gospel,  which  had,  long  ago,  had  their  edges  worn  off 
by  continual  repetition,  struck  him  with  a  new  beauty 
and  force.  And  stranger  still,  the  "  To  Deum,"  which 
had  half  repelled  him  before,  by  a  kind  of  pious  con 
ventionality  of  phrase,  moved  him  now  in  the  very 
depths  of  his  being.  It  was  sung  with  a  soprano  solo 
and  chorus ;  and  the  former,  which  was  of  an  exquisite 
purity,  seemed  to  be  echoing  the  cry  of  his  own 
heart,  with  its  appealing  supplication :  "  Vouchsafe, 
0  God,  to  keep  us  this  day  without  sin," 

Then,  after  another  lesson,  came  the  Twenty-fourth 
Psalm,  also  sung  with  solo  and  chorus,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  divino  music,  as  it  surged  and  rushed  about 
him,  gave  voice  to  all  his  dumb,  imprisoned  agony,  and 
liberated  it,  so  as  to  soar  with  glorious  wing-beats  to 
ward  the  throne  of  God. 

"  Who  shall  ascend  into  the  hill  of  the  Lord," 
chanted  the  soprano,  with  a  fine,  insistent  fervor,  "  or 
who  shall  stand  in  his  holy  place  ?  " 

"  He  that  hath  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart,"  an- 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  GODDESS. 

swered  a  storm  of  accordant  voices ;  "  who  hath  not 
lifted  up  his  soul  to  vanity  nor  sworn  deceitfully." 

He  that  hath  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart !  Ah, 
what  scathing  reproach,  what  inexorable  condemna 
tion  of  all  his  ignoble  past  in  those  sublime  words  I 
How  unspeakably  low  and  degraded  his  life  seemed 
when  measured  by  that  standard !  Clean  hands  and  a 
pure  heart !  Alas,  he  had  neither !  And  he  thought, 
in  the  midst  of  his  religious  fervor,  with  infinite  con 
trition  of  that  radiant  woman  whom,  after  his  long 
search,  he  had  now  found.  She  seemed  so  hopelessly 
remote  from  him,  spiritually,  with  her  purity  and 
stately  perfection. 

Julian  Burroughs  was  not  a  sentimentalist;  he 
had  lived  in  the  midst  of  the  world,  and  had,  from 
force  of  habit  and  example,  accepted  its  standards. 
The  state  of  his  soul  had  never  troubled  him,  and  it 
did  not  exactly  trouble  him  now ;  but  a  spiritual  sense 
was  awakened  in  him  which  hitherto  had  been  dormant ; 
a  new  chord  began  to  vibrate  which  hitherto  had  been 
dumb.  It  was  not  eternal  damnation  he  was  afraid  of, 
but,  if  the  phrase  is  permissible,  temporal  damnation ; 
not  the  loss  of  his  soul  in  eternity,  but  its  loss  here  in 
this  earthly  life.  There  was  a  region  of  his  being 
which  he  had  scarcely  before  been  aware  of — in  which 
he  had  never  lived,  and  in  which  no  voice  had  ever 
resounded ;  but  by  some  marvelous  process  this  wom 
an's  face  had  appealed  to  that  dormant  part  of  his 
nature ;  a  ray  had  pierced  from  it  into  the  dark,  un 
trodden  domain  of  hia  soul,  and  the  hymn  had  fol 
lowed  in  the  path  she  had  made  and  aroused  dim 
powers  and  slumbering  energies.  Here  he  stood,  for 
the  first  time  in  hia  life,  conscious  that  he  had  a  soul 


138       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COt'NTENANCE. 

He  had  often  been  informed  of  the  fact  before,  and  he 
had  accepted  it  as,  in  a  general  sense,  quite  probable ; 
but,  as  far  as  any  manifestation  of  life  was  concerned, 
he  might  as  well  have  been  without  it  He  had  even 
now  a  vague  misgiving,  for  might  it  not  be  a  mere 
aesthetic  susceptibility  in  him  to  which  this  noble  face 
had  appealed  ?  And  the  hymn  likewise  and  the  beauty 
of  the  service,  might  not  this,  too,  have  aroused  mere 
aesthetic  echoes  ?  He  was  unable  to  decide  the  ques 
tion,  nor  did  ho  oxort  himself  to  decide  it,  for  ho  had 
enough  to  do  in  following  the  service,  each  successive 
act  of  which  enlisted  his  earnest  attention. 

When  finally  the  Reverend  Augustus  Norman 
mounted  the  pulpit  and  preached  one  of  his  dry,  de 
corous,  and  mildly  scholarly  sermons,  Burroughs  felt 
his  spiritual  fervor  cooling.  A  kind  of  chilly  antiqua 
rian  spirit  pervaded  Mr.  Norman's  discourse.  He  was 
deeply  versed  in  Oriental  lore ;  had  visited  the  Holy 
Land,  and  described  the  locality  of  the  Saviour's  birth 
and  the  costumes  of  the  shepherds  and  the  magi  with 
considerable  skill.  His  fine,  clean-shaven,  ecclesiasti 
cal  face  lighted  up  with  antiquarian  enthusiasm,  when 
ho  depicted  the  mud  huts  of  Bothlchoin,  the  appear 
ance  of  the  stable,  and  the  squalid  nakedness  of  the 
class  to  which  Joseph  and  Mary  belonged.  He  finished 
with  some  conventional  remarks  on  the  significance  of 
the  Saviour's  birth  amid  such  lowly  surroundings,  and 
then  polinhocl  his  glnaaoa  with  his  handkerchief  before 
pronouncing  the  benediction. 

The  singing  of  the  beautiful  hymn  "  Brightest  and 
Best  of  the  Sons  of  the  Morning  "  tuned  Julian  once 
more  into  a  worshipful  mood ;  but,  with  all  his  relig 
ious  exaltation,  or  what  ho  believed  to  bo  .such,  thoro 


A  GLIMPSE  OP  THE  GODDESS.  139 

was  curiously  commingled  a  sense  of  the  presence  of 
the  fair  lady  whom  he  had  sought  so  long.  Though 
ho  frequently  let  his  eyes  range  up  toward  the  chancel 
where  she  must  be  seated,  he  failed  to  catch  sight  of 
her ;  but  the  mere  fact  that  she  was  there  filled  him 
with  contentment.  A  strange  elation  rose  from  the 
agitated  depths  of  his  being,  flushed  his  cheeks,  and 
set  his  fancy  roving  through  ecstatic  possibilities.  It 
did  not  trouble  him  much,  in  his  present  mood,  that 
ho  did  not  know  her,  that  she  was  probably  beyond 
his  reach,  that  he  was  unworthy  of  her.  A  fatalistic 
confidence  that  this  one  supreme  passion  of  his  life 
must  command  a  response — must,  by  its  own  fire,  kin 
dle  an  answering  flame — took  possession  of  him.  He 
looked  down  upon  the  world  from  tranquil  heights. 
Existence,  resonant  with  music  and  luminous  with 
beauty,  seemed  right  It  could  never  be  the  result  of 
blind  chance.  He  who  made  it  all  must  have  been 
capable  of  grand  and  noble  purposes ;  and,  being  om 
nipotent,  he  could  not  swerve  or  change  or  be  foiled. 
Surely  he  could  afford  to  leave  his  fate  in  God's  hand. 
He  was  in  no  haste  to  make  his  way  out  when  the 
final  benediction  had  been  pronounced,  but  lingered 
purposely  in  his  pew  until  he  spied  the  needle-pointed 
mustachios  of  the  gorgeous  officer  against  the  flowery 
background  of  the  chancel.  It  gave  him  a  sharp  pang 
to  observe  a  little  fleeting  glance  of  intelligence  pass 
between  the  proprietor  of  these  mustachios  and  the 
lady  at  his  side.  It  seemed  to  imply  that  they  knew 
each  other  too  well  to  have  need  of  words.  Julian's 
lofty  serenity  began  to  be  disturbed.  He  found  him 
self  being  carried  along  by  the  crowd ;  and  when  by 
chance  he  saw  Mr.  Endicott  Merrill,  the  secretary  of 


140       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

the  American  legation,  he  leaned  over  toward  him  and 
asked : 

44  Who  is  that  big  ofllcor  over  there  with  all  that 
splendid  upholstery  ?  " 

44  Oh,  don't  you  know  him  ?  "  the  secretary  replied. 
44  Why,  that  is  Count  de  Saint-R6ault.  He  is  a  great 
swell,  a  tremendous  lady-killer.  He  is  said  to  be 
half  English  and  half  French,  and  that  may  be  the 
reason  why  he  is  formidable  to  both  nationalities." 

44  And  who  is  the  lady  whom  he  is  escorting  ?  " 

44  My  dear  fellow,  do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
have  been  in  Rome  for  two  weeks  and  don't  know  who 
she  is  ?  If  I  had  been  told  of  it,  I  shouldn't  have  be 
lieved  the  thing  possible." 

"Well,  then,  who  is  she?" 

44  Then  you  are  really  sincere  ?  You  don't  know  ? 
Well,  she  is  Circe,  the  enchantress.  Only  she  does  not 
turn  men  into  swine,  but  she  turns  swine  into  men. 
To  be  in  love  with  her  is  a  wholesome  and  chastening 
experience.  It  strengthens  both  one's  humility  and 
one's  self-respect.  It  is  a  kind  of  epidemic  which  every 
man  catches  soon  after  his  arrival.  Some  take  it  more 
seriously  than  others.  To  a  few  it  has  proved  fatal." 

4<  Do  you  know — do  you  know — " 

Julian  felt  a  sudden  stricture  in  his  throat,  and 
was  unable  to  finish  his  question.  It  was  Crampton's 
name  he  had  in  mind,  but  he  experienced  difficulty  in 
uttering  it. 

Just  then  the  lady  with  her  escort  swept  by  them 
in  the  outer  vestibule,  and  Burroughs  and  the  sec 
retary  both  removed  their  hats.  The  latter  was  re 
warded  with  a  smile  which  was  beautiful.  It  was  not 
radiant,  not  glaringly  cordial,  but  gently  subdued  as 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  TUE  GODDESS.  141 

was  proper  to  the  occasion.  A  dozen  other  hats  were 
lifted  as  she  made  her  progress  to  the  street,  and  with 
the  same  sweet,  dignified  gentleness  she  responded  to 
all  greetings.  Her  toilet  gave  an  impression  of  com 
bined  simplicity  and  richness  which  challenges  descrip 
tion.  It  was  not  striking,  but  in  admirable  taste, 
expressing  somehow  her  rare  and  noble  personality  in 
millinery.  A  short  cloak  of  blue  velvet,  edged  with 
swan's-down,  set  off  her  fine  figure  to  advantage  ;  and 
a  very  modish  hat  with  a  pale-blue  feather  gave  such 
an  effective  outline  to  her  head  that  it  seemed  im 
possible  to  imagine  how  she  would  have  looked  with 
out  it.  She  seemed  to  leave  a  radiant  trail  behind  her. 
The  impression  of  her  loveliness  was  visible  as  an  illu 
mination  in  every  one's  countenance. 

44  Well,"  said  Merrill,  after  a  ruminating  silence, 
during  which  they  had  reached  the  street,  4<  what  do 
you  think  of  her?" 

44  You  must  excuse  me,"  Burroughs  answered ;  *4 1 
am  not  much  of  a  poet" 

44  Never  mind  that     I'll  be  content  with  proso." 

44  But  you  didn't  tell  me  her  name. " 

"Didn't  I?  Well,  her  name  is  Douglas— Con- 
stance  Douglas." 

44  And  is  she  an  American  ?  " 

44  Yes,  she  is ;  though  she  was  on  the  wrong  side 
in  the  war.  She  is  an  American  imigree^  a  European- 
ized  American  exile.  She  holds  court  in  the  Palazzo 
Barberini.  If  you  want  an  invitation  to  her  Wednes 
days,  I  can  easily  manage  it  for  you." 

44  Thanks,  you  are  very  kind.  But  such  a  resolu' 
tion  requires  meditation — " 

44  Yes,  meditation  and  prayer,"  cried  Merrill. 


U2       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COTJOTENANCE. 

"  Fll  drop  you  a  note  in  a  day  or  two." 
"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  secretary,  "that  is 
too  good.  You  are  duly  impressed,  I  see,  with  the 
danger.  You  pause  on  the  threshold.  That's  wise, 
my  boy,  that's  prudent  But  it's  no  good.  We  all 
have  to  worship  at  that  shrine  as  long  as  we  are  toler 
ated,  that  is,  until  we  are  thrown  out  into  the  outer 
darkness  to  make  room  for  a  new  set  of  worshipers." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A   FATHER  CONFESSOR. 

AMONG  the  boarders  at  Madame  Waldbach'a  was  a 
tall,  athletic  Englishman,  with  a  small  brown  mus 
tache,  and  a  clear,  bright,  rather  boyish  face.  He  had 
been  introduced  to  Julian  as  Mr.  Grantley,  and  the 
American  had  in  some  indefinable  manner  derived  the 
impression  that  he  was  a  captain  of  dragoons.  Though 
the  profession  of  arms  was  not  particularly  congenial 
to  him,  he  took  a  great  fancy  to  the  young  English 
man,  and  frequently  conversed  with  him  on  indifferent 
topics  at  the  table,  As  there  was  no  one  else  in  Ma 
dame  Waldbach's  pension  who  in  the  least  attracted 
him,  he  began  to  make  cautious  advances  to  Mr. 
Grantley,  and  finally  one  day  invited  him  into  his 
rooms  for  an  after-dinner  smoke. 

The  young  man  accepted  with  alacrity.  There  was 
something  almost  touching  to  Burroughs  in  the  way 
ho  waived  all  regard  for  his  own  dignity,  and  yet  al 
ways  appeared  manly  and  dignified. 


A  FATHER  CONFESSOR.  H3 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you,  you  know,"  he  said,  as 
he  seated  himself  in  one  of  Julian's  luxurious  easy- 
chairs,  "  to  ask  me  to  come  and  smoke  with  you.  You 
know,  I  have  been  very  lonesome  to-day,  and  I  fnwv 
you  discovered  it" 

"My  dear  captain,"  the  American  replied,  conli-*' 
ly,  "I  am  afraid  you  undervalue  your  own  attractive 
ness.    I  assure  you,  I  asked  you  out  of  pure  regard  for 
myself,  and  with  no  philanthropic  motive  whatever." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  cried  Grantley,  accepting  the 
proffered  cigar ;  "  but,  pray,  why  do  you  call  me  cap 
tain?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  unless  it  is  because  I  sup 
posed  you  were  a  captain." 

"  You  are  awfully  mistaken  then,  you  know.  I  am 
a  clergyman." 

"  A  clergyman  ! " 

"  Yes,  precisely." 

"  That  was  the  last  thing  I  should  have  suspected 
you  of  being." 

"  You  mean  because  I  wear  a  mustache  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  don't  know  that  it  is  the  mustache.  It  is 
your  whole  personality.  Your  bearing,  if  you  will 
permit  me  to  be  personal,  is  distinctly  military." 

Mr.  Grantley  stretched  his  long  legs  across  the 
rug  toward  the  fire-place,  flung  back  his  head,  and 
laughed. 

"  I  suppose  one  doesn't  easily  get  rid  of  that  sort 
of  thing,"  he  said ;  "  I  served  two  years  in  India." 

"As  a  chaplain?" 

"  No,  as  ensign." 

tt  Then  I  was  not  so  far  wrong,  after  all" 

"No;  you  made  a  shrewd  hit,  but  you  don't  de- 


144       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

serve  much  credit  for  it    The  old  Adam  sticks  in  me 
yet,  I  fancy,  and  will  have  his  fling." 

Mr.  Grantley  looked  through  the  cigar-smoke  at 
Burroughs  with  his  friendly  blue  eyes ;  the  latter  met 
his  guileless  and  candid  gaze  with  unaffected  cordial 
ity.  He  had  never  encountered  a  man  before  whom 
he  had  liked  so  well.  There  was  a  kind  of  cleanness 
about  his  whole  personality,  moral  and  physical,  which 
was  singularly  impressive.  His  great,  well-knit,  mus 
cular  frame  had  a  subtle  refinement  which  made  it 
subordinate  to  the  man  himself,  and  yet  somehow  con 
tributed  to  his  impressiveness.  You  could  imagine  no 
sordid  thing  in  connection  with  him.  A  sense  of  peace 
and  well-being  took  possession  of  Julian  as  he  sat  chat 
ting  with  his  new  friend,  and  a  vague  need  to  confide 
in  him  began  to  assert  itself.  Grantley  seemed  so  gentle 
and  helpful.  A  mild  strength  beamed  from  his  face 
when  he  talked ;  and  he  seemed  to  have  an  inexhaust 
ible  store  of  it  to  draw  upon  in  case  of  need.  It  was 
obvious  that  the  liking  was  mutual,  for  the  talk  flowed 
on  with  delightful  naturalness ;  and  Julian  had  so  vivid 
a  sense  of  his  visitor's  good  opinion  of  him  that  he  felt 
alternately  a  dim  pang  of  remorse  and  a  stirring  of  good 
resolutions.  , 

"  I  suppose,"  he  began,  when  the  ceremonial  stage 
of  the  conversation  had  been  passed,  "  that  you  know 
Mr.  Norman,  who  preaches  in  the  Via  Nazionale." 

"  Oh,  yea,  I  know  him.  He  is  a  good  fellow,"  an 
swered  Grantley,  "  and  a  capital  scholar." 

"  He  is  said  to  be  a  great  judge  of  tea-cups  and 
rugs  and  antiquities  and  things." 

"  Why  don't  you  say  art?  He  is  a  great  judge  of 
music,  painting,  sculpture — in  fact,  of  all  the  arts." 


A  FATHER  CONFESSOR.  145 

"  Except  the  art  of  preaching." 

"  Now,  I  say,  don't  you  bo  hard  on  him,"  ejaculated 
Grantley,  pushing  back  his  wavy  brown  hair  ;  "  he's  a 
capital  good  fellow,  and  he  who  listens  to  him  with  a 
desire  to  be  benefited  will  bo  benefited.  You  must 
pardon  me,  but  I  think  it  is  a  very  obnoxious  spirit 
which  demands  of  the  preacher  entertainment  rather 
than  edification.  I  have  very  little  patience  with  the 
men  who  stand  up,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  in  their  pul 
pits  and  deliver  neat  little  intellectual  essays  on  gome 
topic  of  the  time.  Let  them  hire  a  hall  for  that  pur 
pose.  The  house  of  God  is  not  the  place  for  the  exhi 
bition  of  intellectual  pyrotechnics," 

There  was  a  ring  of  earnestness  and  of  simple,  un 
affected  piety  in  this  which  roused  sympathetic  echoes 
in  Julian's  soul.  lie  had  never  known  any  one  be 
fore  who  introduced  religion  into  ordinary  conversa 
tion,  and  though  he  was  anxious  to  have  him  continue^ 
he  felt  a  little  awkward  in  handling  so  unaccustomed 
a  theme.  He  sat  silent  for  some  minutes  struggling 
to  overcome  this  reluctance,  and  finally  leaned  forward, 
his  grave  eyes  alert  with  interest 

"Perhaps  you  can  answer  a  question  which  has 
long  been  troubling  me,"  he  said.  "  How  can  a  man 
who  has  groveled  in  the  dust  lift  himself  above  and  out 
of  his  sordid  existence,  and  fill  his  life  with  worthier 
contents?" 

"  My  dear  friend,"  answered  Grantley,  heartily,  "  I 
have  been  where  you  are.  I  have  fought  that  battle, 
and  am  still  fighting  it  If  you  will  grant  me  the 
privilege  to  help  you,  I  shall  be  very  happy. " 

"  But  I  do  not  believe,    I  can  not  believe  1    I  never 
shall  believe,"  cried  Julian,  with  deep  perturbation, 
10 


146       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  I  have  known  all  those  fairy  tales  from  my  child 
hood,  but  I  have  outgrown  them.  They  have  lost  all 
power  to  move  me." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  you  to  commence  with  believing," 
Grantley  responded,  quietly ;  "  you  will  end  by  believ- 
ing." 

"  It  is  the  life  I  care  for,  not  the  faith,"  Julian  ex 
claimed,  rising  and  beginning  to  pace  the  floor ;  "  it  is 
the  horrible,  sordid  futility  of  the  life  I  have  been 
leading  which  makes  me  shudder  and  recoil  from  my 
own  self  and  writhe  with  loathing  at  the  recollection 
of  the  things  in  which  I  have  found  pleasure.  "What 
single  redeeming  feature  is  there  to  an  existence  which 
simply  wallows  in  gross  indulgence,  and  for  a  long  time 
was  not  even  made  uncomfortable  by  the  consciousness 
of  its  degradation  ?  " 

A  pensive  brilliancy  stole  into  Grantley's  eyes  as 
he  listened  to  tliis  passionate  outbreak,  "You  can 
not  have  the  life  without  the  faith,"  he  said,  gently, 
"It  is  the  faith  that  sanctifies  the  life.  You  may, 
indeed,  be  philanthropic  and  vaguely  benevolent 
without  being  a  Christian.  But  it  will  give  you  little 
blessing.  You  can  not  lead  the  life  of  the  spirit  with 
out  the  faith  in  the  spirit." 

Burroughs  was  about  to  reply,  but  was  checked  by 
a  knock  at  the  door.  A  strong  displeasure  distorted 
his  features,  and  he  had  yet  made  no  response  when 
Delia's  blonde  head  appeared  between  the  folds  of 
the  portieres. 

"May  I  come  in,  cousin  Jule?"  she  asked,  cheer 
fully,  and  without  awaiting  his  permission,  she  in 
vaded  the  room,  nodded  in  acknowledgment  of 
Grantley's  bow,  and  flung  herself  into  a  vacant  easy- 


A  FATHER  CONFESSOR  147 

chair.  "I  could  hear  through  the  door  you  were 
having  such  a  good  time,"  she  continued,  undiscour- 
aged  by  the  coolness  of  her  welcome,  "and  I  raa 
simply  being  bored  to  death  by  one  of  those  deadly 
women  who  do  fancy-work  and  consult  you  about  a 
crochet  pattern  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  life  and 
death.  You  needn't  scowl,  cousin  Jule.  You  can't 
squelch  me  in  that  way,  you  know.  I  say  what  I  have 
got  to  say,  scowl  or  no  scowl.  And  he  is  himself  the 
most  intolerant  person  in  the  world,  Mr.  Grantley ;  I 
mean  intolerant  of  boredom.  The  trouble  with  him 
is  that,  like  most  men,  he  has  been  made  too  much  of 
from  the  time  ho  was  born ;  and  that  is  the  reason  his 
father  imposed  me  upon  him  as  a  wholesome  and 
chastening  discipline.  For  however  disagreeable  I  am, 
he  can't  shake  me  off,  you  know." 

Mr.  Grantley,  who  was  uncertain  in  what  light 
Miss  Saunders  was  to  be  regarded  laughed  uneasily, 
and  seemed  to  be  looking  for  a  convenient  moment  to 
make  his  exit  Delia,  however,  perceived  his  inten 
tion,  and  interposed  a  prompt  objection. 

*'  You  needn't  run  away  on  my  account,  Mr* 
Grantley,"  she  said,  in  her  cheerfully  patronizing  man 
ner  ;  "  I  won't  bite  you.  Besides,  I  have  a  particular 
reason  for  wanting  you  to  stay.  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  something  about  Mr.  Percy,  or  Mr.  Armitage— -I 
never  can  make  out  what  that  man's  real  name  is." 

44  Sir  Percy  Armitage." 

44  All  right    Tell  me  first,  now,  why  he  stutters  so." 

44 1  wasn't  aware  that  he  stutters." 

44  Well  he  says  aw — aw,  after  every  other  word  he 
utters.  Wouldn't  you  call  that  stuttering?  Bui 
never  mind  that,  tell  me  something  about  him." 


148       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  Sir  Percy,  my  dear  madame,  is  a  rather  eccentric 
gentleman,  but  kind-hearted  and  benevolent.  He  be* 
longs  to  an  old  Suffolk  family  which  has  always  been 
wealthy,  and,  I  believe,  always  a  trifle  eccentric." 

"  He's  awful  good  fun,  any  way,"  ejaculated  Delia, 
with  a  sudden  explosion  of  laughter,  prompted  by 
some  comical  retrospect. 

"  He  is  a  person  of  great  position  and  social  and 
political  consequence,"  observed  Mr.  Grantley,  with  an 
air  of  mild  correction. 

"  Well,  he  may  be  all  that,  but  he  does  say  the 
funniest  things,"  exclaimed  the  young  lady,  with  a 
fresh  burst  of  merriment.  "  Guess  what  he  said  to 
me  to-day,  Jule,"  she  continued,  addressing  herself  to 
her  cousin.  "  We  had  been  driving  about  doing  the 
churches,  and  at  one  place — I've  forgotten  the  name 
of  it — wo  got  into  a  crowd  of  frightfully  malodorous 
people,  all  of  whom  seemed  very  devout  Well,  Sir 
Percy,  he  puffed  and  fumed  and  seemed  awfully  put 
out.  He  blow  his  nose  every  minute  and  waved  his 
handkerchief  which  was  scented.  But  it  was  all  no 
good.  *  Do  you  know,  Miss — aw — Saunders,'  ho  gasped, 
*  that's  what  I've  got  against  —  aw  —  Christianity.' 
«  What?'  I  askecj,  *  that  some  Christians  don't  bathe? 
But  the  heathen,  I  am  told,  are  not  a  whit  bettor  in 
that  respect.'  '  No,'  ho  cried,  *  but  the — aw — terror  of 
it  is  that  we've  got  to — aw — love  them,  unwashed  or 
not.  Paganism  don't  demand — aw — anything  so  pre 
posterous  of  us.  Even  ugly  women,'  he  went  on,  after 
a  while,  *  have — aw — souls  to — aw — save ;  and  I  sup 
pose  it  is — aw — true,  though  I  sometimes  find  it — aw 
— -deucedly  hard  to  believe.'  I  took  him  up  on  that, 
you  may  rest  assured,  and  I  made  him  quite  unhappy 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER. 

by  affecting  to  believe  that  the  remark  had  a  personal 
application.  We  quarreled  all  the  morning,  except 
when  we  were  inside  the  churches,  and  I  said  so  many 
impertinent  things  to  him  that  I  am  sure  he'll  never 
want  to  see  or  speak  to  me  again." 

The  situation  appeared  to  her  so  excessively  amus 
ing  that  she  gave  vent  once  more  to  her  mirth,  heed 
less  of  the  fact  that  both  Grantley  and  her  cousin 
seemed  pointedly  unsympathetic. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A   CHANCE   ENCOUNTER. 

WHY  Miss  Douglas  had  not  long  since  married  was 
a  much-discussed  theme  in  the  foreign  colony  of  Rome. 
It  could  not  be  pretended  that  she  had  not  had  abun 
dant  opportunities,  many  of  which,  to  a  rational  am 
bition,  would  have  appeared  brilliant.  The  assertion 
was  sometimes  heard  that,  in  her  proud  elation  at  her 
popularity,  she  had  completely  lost  her  head ;  that  she 
would  take  nothing  less  than  a  duke — nay,  perhaps 
would  not  scruple  to  set  her  cap  for  royalty.  It  was 
ladies,  of  course,  who  spoke  in  this  way,  for  to  men  the 
notion  that  such  deep  plottings  could  go  on  behind 
Miss  Douglas's  placidly  smiling  mask  seemed  prepos 
terous.  Possibly  her  mother  was  ambitious ;  and  she 
had  apparently  a  high  regard  for  her  mother.  Tho 
little  old  lady  did,  perhaps,  cherish  extravagant  ex 
pectations  ;  but  who,  being  the  mother  of  such,  a 
daughter,  would  not  have  dreamed  dreams  and  seen 


150       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

visions?  It  was  very  pardonable  in  Mrs.  Douglas  to 
dream  even  of  princes. 

But,  in  the  mean  while,  until  the  prince  should  an 
nounce  himself,  Constance  Douglas  was  amusing  her 
self,  so  the  story  went,  with  a  ridiculous  little  canary- 
colored  American.  She  allowed  him  to  paint  her 
portrait  in  different  costumes  and  attitudes.  She 
occasionally  accepted  his  escort  when  she  went  horse 
back-riding;  and  it  was  told  that  the  young  man, 
when  this  dazzling  prospect  came  within  the  range  of 
possibility,  had  rushed  off  to  a  French  riding-master 
and  taken  lessons,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  so  as  not 
to  disgrace  himself.  Ho  could  not  bo  expected  to 
know,  poor  follow,  that  she  was  only  playing  him  oft 
against  Count  de  Saint- Reault,  who,  for  some  reason 
(it  was  surmised),  had  perhaps  become  a  trifle  lax  in 
his  attentions. 

Gossip  of  this  order  was  retailed  daily  at  Madame 
Waldbach'H  dinner-table,  and  could  not  fail  to  make 
some  impression  upon  Julian  Burroughs.  He  had 
now  allowed  two  months  to  pass  without  seeking  the 
acquaintance  of  the  lady  for  whose  sake  he  had  come 
to  Rome.  It  seemed  incredible  to  himself  that  so  long 
a  time  had  elapsed.  Ho  was  often  at  a  loss  to  account 
for  his  own  state  of  mind.  Was  it  really  a  sense  of  his 
own  un worthiness  which  restrained  him  ?  Was  it  not 
rather  a  realization  of  the  tremendous  stake  he  was 
bound  to  risk  in  the  game,  if  once  he  chose  to  play  ? 
It  was  like  walking  up  to  the  Sphinx  and  demanding 
its  riddle,  unsolved  as  yet,  with  ft  beautiful  chanco  oC 
suffering  the  fate  of  all  his  predecessors.  His  dead 
friend's  face  rose  warningly  out  of  the  dusk  with  eyes 
full  of  anxious  forecast.  And  vet  Julian  know  all  the 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER.  151 

while  that  ho  was  dallying  with  fato ;  that  in  tho  de 
cisive  moment  all  his  scruples  and  apprehensions  would 
bo  swept  away  like  cobwebs.  A  verso  from  Swin 
burne's  "  Atalanta  "  kept  ringing  in  his  brain  with 
nightmarish  persistence.  It  was  a  kind  of  possession, 
lie  walked  to  its  rhythm,  and  was  powerless  to  shako 
it  off.  There  was  a  fascinating  cadence  in  it  and  a 
vague  prophecy  which  seemed  to  have  reference  to  his 
own  case : 

Who  shall  contend  with  the  gods, 

Or  cross  them  or  do  them  wrong  I 
Who  shall  bind  them  as  with  cords  f 

Who  shall  tame  them  as  with  song  I 
Who  shall  smito  them  as  with  swords  ! 

For  the  hands  of  their  kingdom  are  strong. 

There  was  another  strange  thought  that  haunted 
him  which  ho  would  have  given  much  to  get  rid  of. 
lie  imagined  there  was  a  touch  of  mystery  about  Con 
stance  Douglas,  bright,  daylight  creature  though  she 
appeared  to  bo.  It  may  have  been  Mr.  Endicotfc  Mer 
rill,  the  secretary  of  the  legation,  who  was  responsible 
for  this  fancy ;  for  his  comparison  of  Miss  Douglas  to 
a  serenely  smiling  Circe,  a  beautiful  but  heartless  en 
chantress,  had  somehow  got  a  powerful  hold  upon 
Burroughs'a  mind.  It  was  particularly  on  one  occa 
sion  that  this  impression  became  most  vivid,  and  it 
had  much  to  do  with  increasing  his  reluctance  to  ap 
proach  her. 

It  had  occurred  to  him  during  one  of  his  visits  to 
the  little  museum  of  antiquities  and  bric-a-brac  which 
Crampton  had  bequeathed  to  him  that  it  would  be  a 
graceful  thing,  on  his  part,  to  mark  his  friend's  grave 
in  the  Protestant  cemetery  with  some  sort  of  monu- 


152       THE  HGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

merit.  He  accordingly  requested  Mr.  Marston,  a  prom 
ising  American  sculptor,  to  submit  some  designs  to 
him  from  which  ho  might  .make  his  selection.  Whilo 
ho  was  occupied; with  this  question  ho  paid  frequent 
visits  to  the  cemetery,  sometimes  on  foot,  sometimes  on 
horseback.  There  was  something  in  the  solemn  im 
mobility  of  the  place  which  soothed  and  rested  him. 
The  bright,  sunlit  silence,  like  a  smile  in  death,  the 
air  of  desertion  and  general  decay,  the  historic  memo 
ries  and  the  venerable  decrepitude  of  the  surroundings 
tuned  him  into  a  mood  of  gentle  melancholy  and  ele 
giac  resignation.  lie  read  Crampton's  letter,  with  its 
enigmatical  prophecies,  sitting  upon  the  stone  slab 
that  covered  his  dust,  and  marveled  what  perverse 
spirit  had  prompted  him  to  bequeath  the  love  that 
had  been  his  own  undoing  to  the  friend  for  whom  he 
professed  an  affectionate  regard.  Why  project  the 
tragic  problem  which  had  wrecked  his  own  life  into 
that  of  his  unsuspicious  friend  ?  For  it  pleased  Julian, 
in  this  mood,  to  believe  that,  without  Crampton's  let 
ter,  the  thought  of  Constance  Douglas  would  never 
have  invaded  his  mind.  lie  sat  for  a  long  while  wrest 
ling  with  these  fancies,  alternately  burning  with  resolu 
tion  and  despising  himself  for  his  irresolution.  Then 
suddenly  he  heard  hoof-beats  at  the  gate  and  saw  two 
equestrians,  a  gentleman  and  lady,  dismount  and  hand 
their  horses  to  ft  groom  who  came  clattering  up  be 
hind  them.  Julian  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  in 
the  trim  riding-habit  the  tall  and  graceful  form  of 
Constance  Douglas,  and  the  dapper  and  animated  little 
figure  that  danced  and  pranced  about  her  could  bo 
none  other  than  Talbot.  It  was  wonderful  how  she 
had  acquired  that  imperial  carriage !  Her  face  beamed 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER.  153 

with  affability ;  there  was  not  a  vestigo  of  hauteur  in 
her  manner,  but  yet  a  certain  gentle  aloofness — a  vague 
reserve — which  showed  that,  however  vivacious  she 
might  be  outwardly,  her  heart  was  profoundly  at  peace, 
her  innermost  self  was  unagitated.     She  was  stopping 
now  at  the  graves  of  Keats  and  Shelley,  which  are 
near  the  gate,  and  Burroughs  could  infer  from  her 
companion's  lively  gestures  the  theme  of  their  dis 
course.      Julian,  who  was  sitting  half-way  up  the 
elope  toward  the  wall,  sheltered  by  a  clump  of  cypresses, 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  putting  his  field- 
glass  (which  ho  always  carried  on  his  excursions  about 
the  city)  to  his  eyes  and  watching  the  ill-assorted 
couple.    Why,  under  the  sun,  he  reasoned,  did  she, 
sublime  as  she  was,  waste  her  sweetness  upon  this  de 
luded  youth,  whoso  hopes  she  was  bound  to  dash  to  the 
ground,  as  she  had  done  those  of  nobler  hearts  before  ? 
Was  there  a  fatality  which  impelled  her,  in  some 
mysterious  way,  to  act  out  the  law  of  her  being,  giving 
joy  and  inflicting  pain  with  a  divine  equanimity,  and 
contemplating  with  smiling  serenity  or  a  mere  mo 
mentary  regret  the  ruin  which  she  had  accomplished  ? 
But  as  ho  kept  her  face  in  focus,  seeing  it  light  up 
with  a  smile  of  exquisite  sympathy,  in  response  to 
some  winged  word  of  Talbot,  concerning  the  dead  poets, 
his  theory  resolved  itself  into  mist  that  vanished  in  the 
sunshine  of  her  presence.    He  saw  her  move  along  the 
gravel-strewn  walks,  pausing  now  at  one  grave,  and 
now  at  another,  and  everywhere  Talbot  seemed  to  be 
equal  to  the  occasion,  reaping  in  that  divine  smile  his 
reward.    There  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  succeeded 
in  pleasing  her,  for  she  had  a  very  different  kind  of 
smile  for  mere  polite  acquiescence.    Bat  sorely  it 


154       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

could  not  be  possible  that  she  was  allowing  herself  to 
be  fascinated  by  his  extravagant  talk !  He  was  clever ; 
there  was  no  doubt  of  that  But  cleverness  was  a 
cheap  kind  of  qualification  for  so  sublime  a  lot  as  that 
to  which  that  presumptuous  young  harum-scarum  was 
aspiring.  A  vague  pang  shot  through  Julian's  breast 
and  settled  into  an  aching  pain  in  the  region  of  the 
heart.  He  watched  with  jealous  vigilance  the  two  un 
conscious  promenaders,  and  discovered  in  the  one  a 
delirious  elation,  and  in  the  lady  a  pleased  surprise  and 
gracious  assent. 

They  were  coming  slowly  up  the  slope ;  and  it  oc 
curred  to  Burroughs  that  Miss  Douglas  was  intending 
to  pay  a  visit  of  sentiment  to  the  grave  of  the  man 
who  had  loved  her  so  well  as  to  find  life  unendurable 
without  her.  His  heart  went  out  toward  her  instantly 
and  all  his  harsh  judgments  were  forgotten.  He 
would  in  that  case  remain  where  he  was  and  shrink  no 
more  from  the  meeting.  It  was  peculiarly  fitting  that 
they  should  meet  at  Crampton's  grave.  If  Talbot 
chose  not  to  introduce  him — and  he  was  quite  equal  to 
that — he  would  take  the  risk  of  introducing  himself. 
They  were  now  pausing  at  the  grave  of  Goethe's  son 
August,  and  Talbot  was  again  ready  with  a  lot  of  in 
formation  and  brilliant  paradoxes,  which  won  the  ob 
vious  approval  of  the  lady.  Julian  wondered  whether 
she  had  not  (like  most  society  people)  been  accustomed 
to  very  dull  conversation,  since  she  found  Talbot's  in 
tellectual  gymnastics  so  entertaining.  That  he  him 
self,  though  not  inured  to  dullness,  had  but  a  few 
months  ago  found  an  equal  delight  in  these  same  acro 
batic  feats  of  conversation  which  now  excited  his  scorn 
had  quite  escaped  his  mind.  Nothing  could  have  per- 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER.  155 

giiaded  him  at  this  moment  that  he  had  ever  regarded 
Talbot  as  his  friend  and  prophesied  for  him  a  brilliant 
career. 

He  sat  for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  in  a  state  of 
agitated  expectancy,  his  heart  beating  in  his  throat, 
while  the  enchantress  threaded  her  way  among  tho 
graves,  followed  by  her  adorer.  Detached  phrases  of 
Talbot's  talk  now  and  then  floated  toward  him ;  and 
they  seemed  stilted,  feverishly  extravagant,  miracu 
lously  odious. 

44 1  sometimes  think  the  silent  majority  have  the 
best  of  it,"  ho  heard  him  say ;  and  Julian  replied  men 
tally  :  "  Yes,  because  they  can't  hear  your  silly  talk." 

44  Why?"  Miss  Douglas  asked.  44  Would  you  like 
to  join  it?" 

44  No,"  cried  Talbot;-44  not  until— not  until— but 
you  will  think  me  the  most  conceited  idiot  under  tho 
sun  if  I  tell  you  what  is  in  my  mind." 

She  evidently  feared  some  explosion  of  sentiment, 
and  therefore  did  not  invite  his  confidence. 

44  Well,"  he  ejaculated,  44it  doesn't  matter.  You 
are  bound  to  find  out  my  weaknesses  any  way.  What 
I  was  going  to  say  was  this :  I  shall  not  care  to  join 
the  innumerable  caravan  of  the  dead — until  I  have 
taught  the  world  how  to  paint  Then  111  cheerfully 
harness  my  ghostly  camel,  and  seating  myself  between 
his  humps,  with  the  boundless  waste  of  eternity  before 
me,  take  passage  across  the  unending  desert  of  death, 
and  doze  on  forever  in  profitless  inactivity." 

"That  does  not  seem  a  cheerful  prospect,"  re 
marked  Constance. 

"No;  I  grant  you  I  have  deserved  a  better  fate; 
but  who  can  quarrel  with  the  gods  ?  I  have  often  had 


156       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE, 

a  good  mind  to  do  so.    But  I  have  been  debarred  by 
their  exclusiveness — their  utter  unapproachability." 

Burroughs  missed  the  lady's  reply  to  this;  and 
he  observed  with  a  sinking  heart  that  she  was  direct 
ing  her  steps  down  the  slope,  and  was  increasing  the 
distance  between  them.  Was  it,  perhaps,  possible  that 
she  had  seen  him,  and  fearing  the  gossip  which  her 
sentimental  pilgrimage  might  occasion  had  desisted 
from  her  purpose?  She  realized,  of  course,  what  a 
conspicuous  personage  she  was,  and  that  her  smallest 
act  was  subject  to  conjectural  interpretation  and  com 
ment.  Or  was  it,  perhaps,  a  mere  vagrant  impulse 
whicli  had  prompted  her  to  explore  the  beautiful  old 
cemetery ;  and  possibly  she  did  not  even  know  where, 
within  its  walls,  her  unhappy  lover  was  reposing. 
Burroughs  strongly  inclined  toward  the  latter  theory, 
as  he  watched,  through  the  branches,  her  blithe  affa 
bility  and  heard  a  little  snatch  of  laughter  from  be 
tween  the  solemn  cypress  boughs. 

The  sun  was  now  low,  and  a  great  saffron-colored 
blaze  with  a  faint  flush  of  crimson  where  it  touched 
the  horizon,  filled  the  western  sky,  fading  gradually 
into  the  blue  of  the  zenith.  Burroughs  had,  from 
where  he  was  sitting,  a  superb  view  of  the  darkening 
plain  below,  of  the  pyramid,  cutting  its  black  silhou 
ette  against  the  heavens,  and  the  great  congregation 
of  towers  and  domes  and  jagged  line  of  roofs  that 
caught  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  The  iron  railing 
of  the  neighboring  tomb,  and  the  thick,  close-trimmed 
shrubbery  that  grew  within  it,  must,  in  all  probability, 
have  shielded  him  from  observation.  While  he  was 
pondering  this  probability,  the  frequent  warning  of 
Grantley  not  to  linger  in  the  cemetery  after  sunset 


A  CHANCE  ENCOUNTER. 

occurred  to  him,  and  ho  rose  somewhat  reluctantly,  de 
scended  the  slope,  and  arrived  at  the  gate  just  as  Tal- 
bot  and  Miss  Douglas  were  cantering  away.  He 
swung  himself  lightly  into  the  saddle,  and  kept  his 
horse  for  a  while  at  a  respectful  distance.  But  ho 
could  not  avoid  witnessing  the  continuation  of  the  tort 
uring  spectacle  which  had  filled  him  with  wrath  in 
the  graveyard.  Through  the  drifting  cloud  of  dust 
that  whirled  in  their  path,  he  caught  glimpses  of  Tal- 
bot's  delighted  face,  as  he  leaned  over  to  his  compan 
ion,  evidently  flattered  out  of  his  wits  by  the  gracious- 
ness  with  which  his  discourse  was  received.  Julian 
had  soon  enough  of  this ;  and  when  he  could  stand  it 
no  longer  he  spurred  his  horse  and  dashed  ahead ;  the 
animal  picked  up  its  feet  beautifully  and  danced  away 
over  the  road  with  a  lightsome  mazurka  gait,  which 
none  but  a  practiced  horseman  on  a  trained  horse 
could  have  maintained.  And  with  what  a  juvenile 
pleasure  this  superior  young  man  now  put  his  beast 
through  its  paces  for  the  edification  of  Constance 
Douglas  I  How  absurdly  and  blushingly  conscious  he 
was  of  his  good  looks,  of  his  good  seat,  of  his  good 
horsemanship  I  And  how  these  advantages  soothed 
his  wounded  spirits  and  restored,  in  a  measure,  his 
self-respect !  For  Talbot,  he  had  been  quick  to  ob 
serve,  had  all  he  could  do  in  keeping  himself  in  the 
saddle  without  grabbing  hold  of  the  horse's  mane,  or 
secretly  holding  on  to  the  pommel.  For  all  that, 
this  nnheroio  figure  had,  for  the  moment,  the  upper 
hand,  and  he  evidently  meant  to  make  the  fullest  use 
of  his  advantage. 


158       THE  UGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 
CHAPTER  XVIL 

THE  ETERNAL  RIDDLE, 

IT  was  remarked  by  the  population  of  the  Casa 
Waldbaoh  that  the  Reverend  Richard  Grantley  and 
Julian  Burroughs  were  becoming  very  intimate.  They 
spent  the  greater  part  of  each  day  in  each  other's 
company.  What  particularly  attracted  the  American 
was  the  absence  of  all  airs  of  clerical  superiority  in 
his  friend.  IIo  was  a  man,  as  most  men  are,  only 
wiser, 'justor,  less  rash  in  his  judgments,  with  a  sweeter, 
richer,  and  mellower  keynote  to  his  personality  than 
any  one  Burroughs  had  known  before,  lie  was  a 
great  sportsman,  had  shot  buffaloes  on  the  American 
prairies  and  grizzlies  in  the  Rocky  Mountains.  IIo 
could  talk  of  fly-fishing,  of  bcavor-trapping,  and  of  his 
hunting  adventures  in  the  West,  with  an  enthusiasm 
which  scorned  at  first  blush  curiously  out  of  keeping 
with  his  clerical  character.  But  this  same  hunter 
of  grizzlies  could  speak  with  no  less  fervor  of  his 
labor  among  the  poor,  his  sense  of  personal  respon 
sibility  for  the  world's  ills,  and  his  efforts  to  stem  the 
rising  tide  of  evil. '  This  combination  of  breezy  man 
liness  with  a  rovoront  religious  spirit  made  a  profound 
impression  upon  Burroughs.  Life  deepened  and 
widened  about  him  with  each  day  that  he  spent  in 
Grantley's  company.  As  by  slow  degrees  he  gleaned 
bits  of  his  friend's  biography  he  was  filled  with  some 
thing  akin  to  reverence  for  his  character.  Hero  was 
a  univcraity-brod  mim,  of  good  family,  with  excellent 
connections,  who  chose  to  throw  all  his  worldly  pros- 


THE  ETERNAL  RIDDLE.  159 

pccts  overboard,  dwell  in  the  slums  and  labor  unre 
mittingly  for  the  moral  elevation  of  his  fellow-men. 
Julian  had  never  come  in  contact  with  so  sublime  a 
character,  and  it  naturally  aroused  in  him  a  desire  to 
consecrate  his  own  life  to  nobler  ends.   New  influences 
were  astir  within  him,  and  new  regions  of  his  soul 
were  constantly  being  opened  up  under  Grantley's 
guidance.    A  spirit  of  renunciation,  a  longing  to  as 
sert  his  powers  in  some  way  for  the  good  of  humanity, 
a  desire  to  make  existence  more  endurable  for  those 
who  suffer,  were  kindled  in  his  heart.    He  was  very 
ehy  at  first  in  dealing  with  these  unwonted  impulses, 
and  it  was  long  before  he  could  bring  himself  to  talk 
of  them  to  Grantley.     lie  was  a  little  disappointed  at 
the  reserved  way  in  which  the  clergyman  responded, 
as  if  he  deprecated  his  zeal,  or  questioned  its  sincerity. 
But  for  all  that,  he  soon  noticed  that  he  had  somehow 
drawn  nearer  to  him  by  his  confession ;  there  was  a 
new  warmth  of  affection  in  Grantley's  voice  when  he 
.  spoke  to  him,  and  a  new  pleasure  in  his  eyes  when 
they  were  riveted  upon  him.    A  companionship  on 
more  equal  terms  was  growing  up  between  them,  and 
it  was  the  more  secure  and  grateful,  because  it  was  in 
their  loftiest  aspirations  and  noblest  impulses  that 
their  sympathy  rested.    It  was  in  their  highest  selves 
they  were  united,  not  in  a  mere  superficial  regard  or 
a  chance  community  of  likes  and  dislikes. 

It  was  early  in  March,  when  the  Carnival  week 
was  far  advanced,  that  an  incident  occurred  which 
aroused  Julian  in  an  unpleasant  manner  to  his  respon 
sibilities  in  regard  to  his  cousin  Miss  Saunders.  She 
had  always  been  accustomed  to  walk  her  own  way,  and 
she  seemed  about  as  hopeful  a  subject  for  discipline 


160       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

as  a  grasshopper.  Julian,  though  he  had  in  a  general 
way  charged  himself  with  her  welfare,  had  never  at 
tempted  to  exert  any  restraining  influence  upon  her, 
because  ho  know  that  such  an  attempt  would  end  in 
conflict,  and  probable  rupture  between  them.  All  he 
knew  at  present  was  that  Delia  was  spending  a  good 
deal  of  her  time  in  the  company  of  the  English  baron 
et  Sir  Percy  Armitage,  who  professed  to  find  her  im 
mensely  clover,  and  that  she  was,  to  all  appearances, 
having  a  capital  time,  lie  suspected,  too,  that  she 
was  making  notes  for  a  future  volume,  for  she  usually 
shut  herself  up  in  the  evenings  in  her  room  and  wrote 
in  her  diaries.  She  displayed  an  unquenchable  thirst 
for  knowledge  and  zeal  in  its  pursuit,  was  discouraged 
lit  110  obfltuolcfl,  tiHod  her  acquaintances,  nan*  cfrvinonn^ 
with  a  cheerful  assurance,  and  ignored  the  limits  which 
'  society  prescribes  for  the  enterprise  of  her  sex.  She 
was  bound  to  see  all  there  was  to  see ;  she  meant  to 
study  life  in  all  its  phases,  regardless  of  idiotic  conven 
tions  ;  and  no  power  on  earth,  she  declared,  could  re 
strain  her  in  her  explorations.  It  was  these  stupid, 
old-fashioned  precepts  about  women  not  doing  this 
and  not  doing  that  which  were  responsible  for  woman's 
ignorance,  superficiality,  and  consequent  degradation. 
Delia,  therefore,  sot  out  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  reform 
er,  to  trample  upon  these  ancient  prohibitions  in  the 
hope  of  thereby  breaking  their  force  forever. 

The  accident  by  which  her  explorations  were 
brought  to  Julian's  notice  came  about  in  tho  follow 
ing  manner:  Ho  had  boon  spending  tho  evening  with 
a  bronze-worker  in  the  Via  Margutta,  of  whom  he  had 
ordered  a  copy  of  the  beautiful  torso  of  Cupid  (known 
as  il  genio  del  Vaticano),  and  was  slowly  wending  his 


THE  ETERNAL  RIDDLE.  Id 

way  homeward,  when  ho  met  Grantley,  who  was  start 
ing  out  on  a  nocturnal  promenade.  Burroughs  knew 
that  the  Protestant  mission  with  which  his  friend 
was  connected  frequently  demanded  his  services  by 
night,  and  was  therefore  in  nowise  astonished  at  their 
meeting. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Grantley  ? "  ho  asked. 
"  Don't  you  want  to  take  me  along  ?  " 

"Well,  why  not?"  Grantley  responded,  as  if  tho 
proposition  suddenly  struck  him  in  a  favorable  light 
44  The  fact  is,"  he  continued,  putting  his  arm  through 
Julian's,  "I  am  going  on  an  errand  of  mercy.  An 
old  English  artist,  who  is  living  hero  in  very  strait 
ened  circumstances,  came  to  seo  me  last  night  about 
his  daughter,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  who,  it  appears,  has 
gone  astray.  She  had  an  Italian  mother,  this  wayward 
Nina,  and  I  suspect  she  found  tho  venerable  jog-trot 
of  her  old  father's  household  rather  too  dull  for  her 
fiery  Southern  blood.  And,  day  before  yesterday,  she 
took  it  into  her  head  to  disappear.  It  is  a  most  piti 
ful  case.  She  has  broken  her  father's  heart  I  have  a 
clew  to-night  by  which  to  go,  and  it  will  lead  us  into 
rather  queer  places." 

"You  know  her  then  by  sight?"  queried  Julian, 
deeply  interested. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  her  well;  but  I  have  very  littlo 
hope  of  benefiting  her.  She  has  a  strain  of  pure  sav 
agery  in  her  blood,  and  I  fear  she  is  predestined  for 
mischief." 

"  If  it  i*  a  case  of  destiny,  why  not,  then,  lot  her 
alone?" 

"  No ;  we  have  no  right  to  abandon  any  one.    God 
ia  stronger  than  any  destiny." 
11 


162       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  But  is  he  not  destiny  ?  Or  what  destiny  can  there 
be  apart  from  him  ?  " 

44  Ah,  my  dear  boy,  it  is  a  tremendous  conundrum 
you  are  propounding  there ;  it  kept  me  in  a  state  of 
feverish  unrest  for  three  miserable  years,  during  which 
I  gave  myself  up  as  lost." 

44  And  what  was  your  conclusion  ?  " 

44 My  conclusion?  To  be  frank,  I  arrived  at  no 
rationally  satisfactory  conclusion.  I  was  born  a  doubt 
er  ;  I  wrestled  with  the  Lord,  like  Jacob,  from  the  time 
I  was  a  mere  lad.  I  wished  to  compel  him  to  bless  me." 

44  And  did  he  bless  you  ?  " 

"He  did,  at  last." 

44  Would  you  mind  telling  me  how  ?  I  am  deeply 
interested." 

44 1  will  gladly  tell  you.  I  had  associated  much 
with  agnostics,  and  was  one  myself.  My  father  was 
an  enthusiastic  unbeliever,  and  I  was  brought  up  in 
his  ideas.  But  during  my  army  life,  the  horrible 
futility  of  all  I  did  began  to  haunt  me  like  a  night 
mare.  The  dreary  barrenness,  the  sordid,  hopeless 
earthiness  of  the  philosophy  I  professed  oppressed  me 
so  that  I  could  scarcely  breathe.  The  heavens  wore 
like  brass  above  my  head,  and  the  earth  beneath  my 
feet  a  devouring  monster,  which,  in  cruel  mockery, 
sent  us  forth  with  a  chain  about  our  feet,  deluded  us 
with  hopes  of  immortality,  like  rainbow-colored  soap- 
bubbles  that  dance  in  the  sun,  which,  when  wo  tried 
to  catch  them,  proved  as  unsubstantial.  The  lives  of 
my  agnostic  friends,  when  I  came  to  regard  them 
critically,  seemed  narrow,  sordid,  and  selfish,  devoid 
of  ideality  and  higher  outlook.  They  were,  as  a  rule, 
intellectual  men,  and  given  to  no  vices;  interested  111 


THE  ETERNAL  RIDDLE,  163 

what  they  called  tho  world's  progress,  but  humanity's 
woe  did  not  touch  them  ;  they  were  content  to  let  the 
unfit  perish,  like  vermin,  and  were  disposed  to  con 
gratulate  the  survivors  on  their  improved  chances,  on 
account  of  the  diminishing  of  their  burden.  And 
what  appeared  to  me  the  most  glaring  inconsistency — 
they  failed  to  see  that,  according  to  their  own  philoso 
phy,  this  frame  of  mind  involved  the  gradual  loss  of 
that  altruism  which  they  professed  to  regard  as  the 
net  result  and  outcome  of  civilization — the  gauge  of 
humanity's  progress,  the  beautiful  fruit  of  the  tree  of 
life.  There  is  something  brutalizing  (which  I  dis 
tinctly  felt  in  my  own  case)  in  shutting  one's  eyes  and 
ears  to  the  world's  woe,  feeling  no  responsibility  for 
it,  and  calmly  accepting  that  relentless  process  of  the 
elimination  of  the  unfit  which  we  think  Nature  has 
wisely  adopted.  I  may  be  fighting  against  Nature  to 
day,  retarding,  perhaps,  the  predominance  of  the  fittest ; 
and  if  s6,  my  work  may  in  tho  end  prove  futile.  But  if 
God  made  all  these  suffering,  erring,  miserable  fellow- 
creatures  of  mine,  what  right  have  I,  with  my  narrow, 
temporal  vision,  to  decide  that  they  are  nnfit,  and  let 
them  perish  for  want  of  a  helping  hand  from  me  ?  " 

They  had  during  this  discourse  strolled  down  the 
Via  Fontanella,  crossed  the  Corso  and  the  Ripetta, 
and  were  approaching  the  Ponte  di  San  Angelo.  In 
the  Via  Tordinone,  which  winds  along  the  river 
front,  they  met  a  straggling  company  of  maskers  whose 
tawdry  finery  fluttered  in  the  wind,  and  whose  false 
hilarity  re-echoed  with  a  mocking  distinctness  in 
the  silent  street  The  great  humid,  weather-beaten 
house-fronts  rose  like  hoary  ghosts  out  of  the  dusk, 
staring  out  of  their  cavernous  windows  at  the  vener- 


164:       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

able  Tiber  who  yet  tosses  his  tawny  mane  against  the 
pallid  beams  of  the  moon.  The  merry-makers  pushed 
rudely  against  the  two  promenaders,  and  sent  a  couple 
of  handfuls  of  confetti  flying  into  their  faces.  One 
young  girl,  in  the  character  of  Columbine,  stepped  for 
ward  and  asked  pertly  if  the  signori  forestieri  would 
not  join  them  and  have  some  sport, 

"  Not  this  time,  my  child,"  answered  Grantley,  in 
fluent  Italian ;  and  going  closer  to  the  girl,  he  put  his 
hand  gently  on  her  arm,  and  said,  with  impressive  seri 
ousness  :  "  I  want  you  to  go  home  now.  This  is  not 
the  time  for  a  young  girl  to  be  on  the  street." 

"  Pardon  me,  eccelenza"  replied  the  girl,  dropping  a 
deep  courtesy ;  "  I  did  not  know  eccelenza  was  a  priest." 

She  bade  her  companions  a  hasty,  shamefaced  good- 
by,  and  hurried  up  the  street,  while  they  stood  and 
gazed  after  her  in  sheepish  wonder. 

"  I  can  not  quite  consent  to  drop  our  discussion 
yet,"  began  Burroughs,  as  they  resumed  their  walk. 
"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  what  was  the  decisive  influ 
ence  which  impelled  you  to  give  up  your  career  and 
live  the  life  you  are  now  leading  ?  " 

"  The  influences  I  have  already  mentioned ;  a  con 
viction  that  the  Christian  life,  whatever  its  imperfec 
tions,  is  a  nobler,  more  useful,  and  exalted  one,  than 
the  career  I  abandoned  ?  " 

"Nothing  else "?" 

Grantley  paused  for  a  moment  and  looked  sharply 
at  his  friend,  just  as  they  plunged  into  the  shadow  of 
a  tall,  half -ruined  building. 

"  I  know  what  is  in  your  mind,"  he  said,  smiling 
gravely ;  "  you  imagine  that  some  romantic  incident, 
some  bitter  disappointment,  the  rejection  of  my  love 


THE  ETERNAL  RIDDLE.        165 

by  some  ono  I  had  set  my  heart  on,  or  something  of 
that  sort  was  required  to  arouso  me  from  my  torpor. 
That,  I  admit,  is  what  usually  happens  in  novels.  In 
my  case  there  was  no  such  motive." 

"  Pardon  me,  if  I  seem  importunate,  but  tell  me, 
how  did  you  get  faith  all  at  once,  being  an  unbeliever  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  get  faith  all  at  once.  I  am  not  even 
now  sure  that  I  am  in  any  sense  orthodox.  But  this 
passage  of  Scripture  came  to  my  help :  *  If  any  man 
will  do  his  will,  ho  shall  know  of  the  doctrine,  whether 
it  is  of  God,  or  whether  I  speak  of  myself.'  IIow  could 
I,  being  wholly  carnal,  having  never  lived  the  life  of  the 
spirit,  hope  for  any  sudden  illumination  enlightening 
me  concerning  the  ways  of  God  toward  man  ?  I  de 
termined  to  do  his  will,  according  to  the  best  of  my 
ability,  accepting  his  promise,  and  trusting  that  in  his 
good  time  ho  will  grant  me  light." 

They  walked  along  silently  for  some  minutes, 
and  entered  the  Ponte  Sisto,  which  leads  into  that 
very  plebeian  quarter,  called  the  Trastevere.  They 
paused,  as  by  common  consent,  in  the  middle  of  the 
bridge,  and  stared  at  the  hurrying  river,  the  ancient 
yellow  Tiber  which  "  flows  by  the  walls  of  Rome." 
The  evening  star  stood  big  and  splendid  over  the 
dome  of  St.  Peter's,  and  out  of  the  deep  spaces  of  the 
sky  hosts  of  stars  trembled  forth  into  view,  as  they 
gazed  into  the  blue  expanse.  There  was  a  warm  spring 
dampness  in  the  air,  and  vague  pungent  odors  which 
stirred  lawless  impulses  in  the  blood.  The  huddled 
dilapidated  buildings  of  the  Trastevere,  turning  their 
greenish-black  rears  toward  the  river,  had  a  gaunt  au 
sterity  which  the  moonlight  scarcely  mellowed.  It 
seemed  a  yery  solemn  moment  to  Julian ;  a  question 


105       THE  LIGHT  OP  HEE  COUNTENANCE. 

hovered  upon  his  lips  which  he  hardly  had  the  courage 
to  ask.  He  knew  ho  had  been  sounding  the  depths  of 
his  friend's  soul.  But  there  was  yet  something  vital 
which  he  yearned  to  know. 

"  I  can  not  stop  where  you  have  loft  me,  Grantley," 
he  said,  with  tremulous  intensity.  "  May  I  go  on  ?  " 

"  By  all  means,  speak  what  is  in  your  heart" 

"  Have  you  found  the  light  for  which  you  hoped  ? 
Do  you  feel  sure  of  everything  now  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not.  Only  of  this  I  feel  sure,  that  I  am 
on  the  right  way.  But  I  have  a  long  road  before  me 
to  travel  yet.  Probably  I  shall  never  reach  certainty. 
But  God  meant  it  to  be  so.  I  see  more  than  I  did,  and 
I  am  conscious  of  a  constant  spiritual  growth.  Christ 
did  not  come  to  bring  the  peace  of  certainty,  but  the 
sword  of  doubt  and  struggle  and  victory  and  defeat ; 
of  stormy  ascent  and  anxious  groping  in  the  dark, 
and  faint  and  far  glimpses  of  beatitude.  Aspiration, 
though  with  the  condition  of  erring  and  failing,  is  the 
proof  of  spiritual  vitality." 

"  If  there  was  tiny  one  whom  you  loved,  would  you 
advise  him  to  choose  the  road  that  you  have  chosen  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear  friend ;  yes,  and  a  thousand  times  yes, 
if  I  believed  him  strong  enough  to  fight  the  battles 
which  I  have  fought." 

As  he  spoke  these  words  he  grasped  both  Julian's 
hands  with  fervor,  and  gazing  up  toward  the  sky  held 
them  long  in  his. 

"  God  bless  you,"  he  murmured,  reverently,  "  and 
have  you  in  his  keeping." 

Prom  beyond  the  river  wild  shouts  of  revelry  were 
heard,  snatches  of  song,  and  bursts  of  rollicking 
laughter. 


STRAYING  SHEEP.  167 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

STRAYING   SHEEP. 

THE  two  friends  paused  before  a  low,  rambling 
building,  looking  somewhat  like  a  circus  tent.  Two 
sides  of  it  were  made  of  massive  stone  walls  belonging 
to  some  ancient  ruin  which  had  been  partly  excavated 
and  the  rubbish  removed,  and  the  two  other  sides  con 
sisted  of  a  wooden  clapboarding  of  tlio  flimsiest  char 
acter.  Rows  of  colored  lanterns  hung  in  festoons 
under  the  eaves,  and  from  within  came  the  strains  of  mu 
sic  and  a  mingled  confusion  of  clatter  of  heels,  cries  of 
venders,  and  noisy  hilarity.  Grantley  stepped  up  to  the 
ticket-office  and  bought  two  tickets,  which  gave  right 
of  admission  to  a  box  in  the  low  tier  which  surrounded 
the  dancing-hall.  He  mounted  the  creaking  stairs 
rapidly,  followed  by  Julian.  The  spectacle  which, 
greeted  them  as  they  took  their  seats  in  the  box  was 
not  edifying.  On  the  floor  below  some  three  or  four 
hundred  people,  a  majority  of  whom  were  women, 
were  whirling  about  with  a  kind  of  wild,  bacchantic 
frenzy,  of  which  wo  of  Germanic  blood  can  have  no 
conception.  All  who  participated  in  the  dance  were 
in  fancy  costumes,  while  the  occupants  of  the  boxes 
were  in  ordinary  attire.  There  were  harlequins  and 
columbines  in  great  number,  with  gaudy  garments  of 
a  kind  of  cheap  glazed  stuff ;  there  were  hump-backed 
pulcinellos  with  enormous  noses,  red  tights,  and 
slashed  sleeves;  and  there  were  predatory  black  domi 
noes  of  quiet  demeanor,  who  stood  with  observant  eyes 
along  the  walls,  on  the  alert  for  ad  ventures,  or  prome- 


168       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

naded  with  the  prettiest  contadinas.  It  was  these 
apparently  inoffensive  persons  who  aroused  Grantley's 
wrath.  "  A  spectacle  like  this,"  he  said,  with  a  voice 
quivering  with  indignation,  "  makes  one  feel  how  thin 
the  glaze  of  civilization  is  in  this  vaunted  nineteenth 
century ;  how  strong  the  beast  is  yet  in  man ;  how 
the  brutal  passions  lie  in  ambush,  ready  to  leap  forth 
undisguised,  as  soon  as  the  artificial  restraints  are  re 
laxed." 

Julian  did  not  answer,  but  sat  leaning  out  over  the 
balustrade  of  the  box.  He  had  seen  such  scenes  be 
fore,  not  once,  but  many  times ;  and  ho  had  even  par 
ticipated  in  them.  He  understood  perfectly  the  atti 
tude  of  those  gentlemanly  black  dominoes  who  hov 
ered  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  and  out  of  his 
memory  started  a  pack  of  sharp-fanged  regrets  like 
Hiwugu  houwlH,  uiul  tore  hit*  aolf-cstecm  into  a  thousand 
shreds.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  luxurious  sense  of 
religious  humility  in  which  so  many  devotees  revel. 
He  knew  only  the  pain  of  remorse  and  the  shame  and 
degradation  which  stuck  like  poisoned  arrows  in  his 
flesh.  The  thought  flitted  through  his  brain  that  ho 
must  have  undergone  a  groat  change,  since  the  scene* 
now  filled  him  with  emotions  so  different  from  those 
which,  but  half  a  year  ago,  would  have  been  upper 
most,  and  he  derived  a  slight  comfort  from  this  reflec 
tion.  Ho  glanced  sideward  at  Grantloy's  earnest  face, 
and  read  in  its  every  lino  and  feature  the  noble  ppirit 
which  animated  the  man.  lie  felt  like  clutching  him, 
clinging  to  him,  confiding  in  him,  and  never  departing 
from  his  side.  The  clergyman  feeling  his  gaze  turned 
toward  him  and  remarked  : 

"  I  see  no  trace  as  yet  of  my  lost  lamb.     But  I  am 


STRAYING  SHEEP.  169 

convinced  she  is  here.  I  hope  you  won't  get  impatient, 
old  man,  if  I  keep  you  till  morning.  I  am  bound  to 
see  this  thing  through,  and  I  may  need  your  help,  in 
case  I  get  into  rows — as  I  am  not  unlikely  to  do." 

He  pulled  a  couple  of  cigars  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
handed  one  to  Burroughs. 

"  Smoke,"  he  said,  encouragingly ;  "  it'll  do  you 
good.    It  is  a  light,  harmless,  and  well-flavored  weed." 

Julian  accepted  the  cigar  with  a  nod,  and  lighted 
it,  after  having  offered  his  match-box  to  Grantley.  It 
was  wonderful  how  two  or  three  puffs  blunted  the 
keenness  of  his  regrets  and  relaxed  the  tensity  of  his 
nerves.  The  orchestra  was  tuning  up,  with  a  prelude 
of  confused  discords,  for  the  next  dance,  and  there  was 
a  great  commotion  on  the  floor,  while  each  masker  was 
trying  to  find  a  partner  or  to  penetrate  the  incognito 
of  the  one  he  had  found.  A  number  of  flower-girls  and 
vendors  of  lottery  tickets  were  circulating  through  the 
crowd,  crying  at  the  tops  of  their  voices,  and  screams  of 
pure  wantonness  rose  hero  and  there  above  the  general 
turmoil,  when  some  gay  youth  and  maiden  exercised 
somewhat  audaciously  the  privileges  of  their  incognito. 
When  the  preliminary  eddying  of  the  throng  had 
ceased  and  all  had  found  their  places,  the  fiddles  and 
the  clarionets  broke  into  a  slow,  rhythmical  wail,  and 
the  maskers  began  to  move  to  and  fro,  quickening  their 
movements  in  sympathy  with  the  quickening  tempo. 
They  advanced  and  receded,  with  expressive  gestures, 
in  long  rows ;  now  and  then  a  dancer  seized  his  fair 
partner  about  the  waist  and  lifted  her  above  his  head 
— a  feat  which  was  always  greeted  with  tremendous 
hilarity — and  occasionally  the  fair  partner  playfully 
touched  the  nose  of  her  vis-a-vis  with  the  tip  of  her 


17Q       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

dainty  too  or  lifted  tho  fringe  of  a  black  mask  with  the 
same  convenient  member.  All  order  gradually  ceased, 
and  each  couple  danced  according  to  its  own  sweet 
will,  leaping,  shrieking,  laughing,  and  shouting,  but 
yet  keeping  time  in  their  motions  with  the  hurrying 
music  and  flinging  their  bodies  about  with  dithy- 
rambio  abandonment  and  impetuosity.  It  reminded 
one  of  tho  time  when  the  wildly  beautiful  Bacchante, 
with  unloosed  garments  and  disheveled  locks,  smote 
the  earth  with  rhythmic  feet,  and  the  cry,  "  Evoe  Bac 
chus,"  re-echoed  through  Tempo  and  the  vales  of  Ar- 
cudy. 

It  was  while  this  fronxiod  abandonment  was  at  its 
height,  that  Julian  noticed  an  unusual  commotion  at 
tho  door  right  under  tho  box  in  which  ho  was  sitting, 
and  to  his  unutterable  amazement  saw  his  cousin  Delia 
walk,  with  her  cool  and  degaye  air,  into  tho  midst  of  tho 
nursing  crowd,  loaning  upon  tho  arm  of  Sir  Percy  Ar- 
mitage.  The  latter  wore  evening  dress  and  a  tall  hat, 
and  looked  as  if  he  had  come  from  a  dinner  party ; 
while  Delia  was  arrayed  in  an  ordinary  brown  walking- 
costume,  a  light  wrap,  and  a  rakish  hat,  adorned  with 
a  crimson  bird  that  Hcomed  to  bo  bristling  with  pug 
nacity.  She  did  not  appear  to  be  in  tho  least  dis 
turbed  by  the  license  of  demeanor  which  prevailed 
about  her,  but  with  an  expression  of  scientific  interest 
put  on  her  eyeglasses,  and  began  to  make  her  obser 
vations.  Sir  Poroy,  on  tho  other  hand,  Boomed  to  bo 
ii  good  deal  annoyed,  and  picked  his  way  through  tho 
crowd,  at  first  cautiously  and  critically,  as  if  ho  ob 
jected  to  bo  bumped,  and  when  his  warning  frowns 
produced  no  effect,  he  grow  very  red  in  tho  face  and 
about;  him  imperious  glances  of  indignation. 


STKAYING  SHEEP.  171 

Ho  stopped  repeatedly  and  spoke  in  a  tone  of  remon 
strance  to  his  companion,  but  she  declared  laughingly 
that  this  was  the  very  thing  she  had  wanted  to  see 
\-T  since  she  came  to  Italy,  and  that,  if  he  left  her, 

-mid  remain  any  way;  it  reminded  her  so  of  a 
in   "The  Marhle  Faun";   and  there  was  also 

thing  like  it  in  "  Corinne."    She  did  not  mean 
to  submit  to  his  arrogant  masculine  dictation ;  and  if 
ho  was  afraid  to  stay,  they  might  exchange  rdles,  and  she 
would  protect  him.    There  was  not  the  faintest  souppon 
of  ill-temper  in  this  declaration,  but  rather  a  spirit  of 
friendly  banter  which  had  become  the  customary  tone 
between  them.     But  they  were  not  aware  either  of 
them  that,  as  they  were  standing  there  disputing  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  they  were  the  most  conspicuous 
couple  in  the  whole  assembly,  and  the  target  of  count 
less  witticisms.     They  were  intentionally  knocked  and 
bumped  from  pillar  to  post,  and  as  they  took  no  hints 
(though  they  were  made  plain  enough),  they  found 
themselves  suddenly  surrounded  by  a  ring  of  maskers, 
who  circled  madly  about  them,  shouting  and  screaming 
and  kicking  up  their  heels.     Sir  Percy  was  so  aston 
ished  to  see  his  dignity  thus  lightly  treated  that  he 
blushed  purple,  and  taking  Delia  by  the  hand  plunged 
forward  and  strove  by  force  to  break  through  the  ring. 
But  he  could  not    A  peal  of  uproarious  laughter 
greeted  the  clumsy  attempt.     Wildly  and  more  wildly 
the  dancers  whirled  about  him.    Even  Delia  began  to 
be  annoyed.    She  looked  to  the  right  and  to  the  left 
for  a  means  of  escape.    For  an  instant  the  ring  broke, 
but  was  as  quickly  again  reattached,  and  four  lightly 
arrayed  sylphs  pirouetted  forward  into  the  open  space, 
and,  holding  up  their  short  skirts  with  dainty  fingers, 


172       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

hovered  about  Sir  Percy  with  the  most  bewitching 
glances  flashing  from  behind  their  masks.  He  stood, 
red  and  explosive,  and  stared  at  them  in  wrathful  be 
wilderment.  Then,  quick  as  a  flash  one  of  them  wafted 
past  him  and  with  the  tip  of  her  toe  knocked  off  his 
hat ;  the  second  one  deftly  caught  the  hat  on  her  foot 
and  sent  it  flying  toward  the  ceiling,  and  when  again 
it  descended  it  received  another  upward  impulse,  which 
landed  it  in  some  unknown  region,  outside  the  ring. 
The  discomfiture  of  its  owner  was  pitiful  to  behold. 
He  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  have  an  apoplectic  fit. 
And  all  the  while  the  wild  dancers  whirled  about  him 
roaring  with  laughter ;  while  oven  Delia  (as  soon  as  sho 
had  convinced  herself  that  the  fun  was  good-natured) 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  joining  in  their  mirth. 
The  four  teasing  sylphs,  encouraged  by  these  evidences 
of  approval,  made  renewed  advances,  and  when  their 
victim,  beside  himself  with  anger,  tried  again  to  break 
away,  they  seized  him  by  both  hands  and  swung  him 
about  in  a  dizzying  whirl,  pausing  now  and  then  to  make 
importunate  demonstrations  of  tenderness  which  were 
indignantly  repelled.  Each  advance  and  repulse  was 
greeted  with  equal  delight  by  the  crowd ;  and  even 
the  galleries  which  had  hitherto  been  neutral  now  re 
sounded  with  noisy  laughter.  It  was  as  good  as  an 
old-fashioned  comedy.  It  is  doubtful  how  long  it 
would  have  lasted  and  what  the  end  of  it  would  have 
been,  if  two  men  had  not  elbowed  their  way  through 
the  multitude  and  come  to  the  rescue  of  the  involun 
tary  actors.  These  men  were  Grantley  and  Julian 
Burroughs.  But  when  they  reached  the  scene  of  the 
late  comedy,  neither  Sir  Percy  nor  Delia  was  to  be 
seen.  Grantley  stood,  like  a  spirited  horse,  with  dilated 


STRAYING  SHEEP.  173 

nostrils  and  lustrous  eyes  spying  in  all  directions. 
Suddenly  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  two  flushed  faces 
and  disheveled  locks  that  were  swiftly  gyrating  in  a 
kind  of  involuntary  cancan.  Wherever  they  turned, 
fresh  hands  took  hold  of  them  and  whirled  and  dragged 
and  swung  them,  until  they  panted  and  gasped  and 
nearly  wept  with  wrath  and  exhaustion.  To  dart 
forward,  push  the  crowd  apart  and  release  the  breath 
less  prisoners  was  but  a  moment's  work.  Derisive  jeers 
and  a  rain  of  vulgar  witticisms  were  heard  on  all  sides, 
but  no  demonstration  of  hostility  was  attempted.  Sir 
Percy,  still  trembling  with  rage,  was  breathing  threats 
and  curses  while  he  allowed  the  clergyman  to  pilot 
him  out  Delia,  on  the  other  hand,  had  swiftly  recov 
ered  her  equanimity,  and  was  now  endeavoring  to  give 
the  impression  that  she  had  had  a  delightful  time. 

"  It  was  awful  good  fun,"  she  panted,  smoothing 
her  disordered  hair,  and  contemplating  the  wreck  of 
her  hat  which  she  carried  in  her  hand ;  "  now  I  can 
really  say  that  I  have  danced  a  tarantella." 

"  I  wouldn't  brag  of  it,  if  I  were  you,"  said  her 
cousin,  with  warning  gravity ;  "  I  shall  have  more  to 
say  to  you  on  the  subject  when  we  get  home." 

"  Oh,  no,  pray,  go  ahead  now,"  she  cried,  with  forced 
levity ;  "  I  am  just  in  a  mood  for  it" 

"  I  shall  go  and  see  our  minister  at  once,"  wheezed 
Sir  Percy,  when  they  had  reached  the  outer  vestibule ; 
"I  wonder — aw — I  wonder  if — aw — an  English  gen 
tleman — is  to  be— aw— outraged  and  insulted — with— 
aw — impunity — ." 

A  coughing  fit  here  interrupted  the  threatening 
discourse,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  over  Grantley  assist 
ed  him  in  arranging  his  disordered  toilet  With  the 


174       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

aid  of  a  pocket-comb  and  glass  he  disposed  his  strag 
gling  hair  so  as  to  cover  the  bald  spot  on  his  crown, 
and  out  of  a  red  silk  handkerchief,  the  four  corners 
of  which  he  tied  into  knots,  he  improvised  a  cap.  u  I 
want  you  to  understand,  Grantley,"  he  said,  while  en 
gaged  in  these  operations,  "  that  it  was — simply — aw 
— to  accommodate  this — aw— young  lady — that  I  con 
sented  to  enter  this  infernal  place.  She  wanted  to  see 
— aw — Italian  folk-life  and  that — sort  of  thing.  But 
if  I  had  known  what  kind — aw — of  folk-life  it  was  I 
was  taking  her  to  see — I'll  be  blasted  if  I  had — aw — 
ever  consented." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  take  a  box  and  look  at  the 
dancing,  as  so  many  others  do?"  asked  Grantley; 
"  nobody  ever  thinks  of  going  in  on  the  floor  without 
being  in  costume." 

"  What  did  I  know  about  their — aw — blasted  cus 
toms  ?  "  ejaculated  the  baronet,  with  unwonted  fluency. 
"  I  didn't  even  know  there  were — aw — boxes." 

Having  recovered  his  breath  sufficiently  and  re 
paired  his  solf-esteem?  Sir  Percy,  with  grudging  po 
liteness,  assisted  Miss  Delia  into  the  fiacre  which  had 
been  waiting  for  them  outside,  and  took  his  seat  at  her 
side. 

"Sorry  I  can't  offer  you  a  seat,  gentlemen,"  he 
called  to  his  roscuor(s,  as  the  cabman  drove  off. 

He  spoke  scarcely  a  word  to  Delia  until  he  deposit 
ed  her  at  the  entrance  to  the  Waldbach  pension  on  the 
Piazza  di  Spagna.  1 


"THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE,  ABSTAIN,  REFRAIN.**  175 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

"THOU   SHALT   RENOUNCE,  ABSTAIN,    REFRAIN." 

TAKING  Julian  by  the  arm,  Grantley  rapidly  re- 
entered  the  dancing-hall.  There  was  a  pause  in  the 
dance,  and  the  cries  of  the  venders  of  lottery  tickets 
rose  again  shrilly  above  the  shuffle  of  feet  and  the  hum 
of  conversation. 

"  I  have  discovered  my  lost  lamb,"  said  the  clergy 
man.  "  She  was  the  one  who  knocked  Sir  Percy's  hat 
off  with  her  toe." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"  Tolerably  sure.  I  watched  her  through  my  opera- 
glass,  and  I  discovered  at  her  throat  the  cameo-pin 
of  the  young  Augustus  which  her  father  gave  her  on 
her  birthday,  a  year  ago.  And  then  the  build,  the 
hair,  and  the  way  the  head  was  set  upon  the  shoulders 
were  unmistakably  hers." 

He  pushed  ruthlessly  on  while  he  spoke,  his  fine 
head  looming  above  the  crowd,  and  his  fearless  gaze 
peering  with  a  frown  of  concentrated  energy  into  every 
face  that  passed  him. 

44 But  will  she  not  know  you?"  queried  Julian, 
aroused  into  sympathy  with  the  adventurous  un 
dertaking. 

44  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  But  she  will  not  dream  that 
I  am  here  on  her  account,  nor  will  she  imagine  that  I 
could  penetrate  her  incognito" 

He  had  scarcely  tittered  the  last  syllable  when,  he 
•made  a  dash  forward,  and  seizing  a  masked  damsel  by 
the  arm,  said : 


176       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

44  Gabriella,  I  want  you  to  come  home  with  me  to 
your  father." 

There  was  something  in  his  boldness  and  his  im 
posing  size,  as  also  in  the  vibrating  earnestness  of  his 
voice  which  made  an  impression  upon  the  girl  and  ap 
pealed  to  her  better  nature*  She  stood  for  a  moment 
vacillating,  looking  away  over  the  heads  of  the  mask 
ers,  as  if  afraid  to  meet  his  eye.  But  suddenly  she 
received  a  signal  from  a  tall  black  domino  that  stood 
leaning  against  the  wall.  She  aroused  herself,  turned 
resolutely  about,  and  said  in  fluent  Italian  : 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sigaore.  I  am  not  the  one 
you  are  looking  for.  I  have  made  no  appointment 
with  you  for  to-night." 

She  gave  a  pert  little  laugh  as  she  swung  about 
upon  her  heel,  having  delivered  herself  of  this  Par 
thian  arrow.  But  her  glance  was  uneasy,  and  she 
was  at  evident  pains  to  terminate  the  interview. 

"  You  can  not  deceive  me,  child,"  retorted  Grantley, 
in  a  voice  full  of  tender  pity.  "  Come  with  me.  Your 
poor  father  is  brokqn-hearted.  lie  has  sent  mo  to  find 
you." 

"  But  I  assure  you,"  ejaculated  the  girl,  with  forced 
hilarity,  "  that  you  are  mistaken.  I  wish  youM  let 
me  go  now,  and  not  make  a  fuss,  or  wo  might  both  bo 
arrested.  This  new  police,  you  know,  are  terribly  par 
ticular." 

"  How  could  you  understand  me  if  you  were  not 
Gabriella  ?  "  asked  the  clergyman,  in  a  tone  of  sorrow 
ful  remonstrance.  "  I  have  spoken  English  to  you, 
and  you  have  answered  me  in  Italian.  So,  let  us  talk 
no  more  about  that.  The  question  is,  will  you  como 
homo  to  your  father  or  will  you  live  a  life  of  sin  and 


"THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE,  ABSTAIN,  REFRAIN."  177 

load  the  guilt  of  his  death  upon  your  soul  ?    Can  you 
afford  to  make  such  a  choice,  Oabriella  mia  f  " 

The  music  again  struck  up  a  tune  full  of  rollicking 
mirth,  rising  to  a  tumultuous  bacchantio  exultation. 
"  Oh,  let  me  go,  let  me  go,  Mr.  Grantley,"  she  cried, 
impatiently,  in  English.  "  It  is  true,  I  am  Gabriella ; 
but  I  don't  want  to  go  home  to  my  father  and  wash 
dishes  for  him  and  run  errands  and  die  slowly  of 
sheer  boredom.  I  have  had  enough  of  that,  Mr. 
Grantley.  If  my  father  had  loved  me  so  dearly,  as 
you  say  he  does,  he  ought  to  have  exerted  himself  a 
little  to  amuse  me.  But  he  never  thought  of  me  and 
I  was  always  to  think  of  him.  That  may  have  been 
very  pleasant  for  him,  but  it  was  not  a  bit  amusing 
to  me." 

"  But  you  know  your  father  is  poor,  Gabriella." 

"  Yes,  he  is  poor ;  and  why  is  he  poor  ?  Well,  be 
cause  he  insists  upon  pleasing  himself  in  painting  as 
in  everything  else.  He  paints  just  what  he  likes  him 
self  and  what  nobody  else  likes.  He  calls  that  high 
principle  in  art  Well,  if  that  is  high  principle,  then 
give  me  less  principle  and  more  money.  Then  he  won't 
associate  with  anybody;  because  he  is  too  proud,  he 
says,  to  associate  with  those  who  are  better  off  than 
himself;  and  he  is  too  proud,  too,  to  associate  with 
those  who  are  poorer.  And  so  I  might  just  as  well 
have  been  in  a  convent  or  in  jail.  I  am  done  with 
that  now,  Mr.  Grantley,  and  I  won't  go  back." 

She  gave  a  toss  of  her  pretty  head  and  tried  to  pull 
her  arm  away  from  him,  but  he  held  her  with  a  grip 
of  steel. 

"One  moment,  Gabriella,"  he  begged,  earnestly; 
"  I  have  still  something  to  say  to  you." 


178       THE  LIGHT  OF^HER  COUNTENANCE. 

She  was  making  appealing  signals  with  her  eyes  to 
the  black  domino,  who  now  half  reluctantly  came  for 
ward,  shielded  by  his  incognito.  He  was  a  tall,  finely 
grown  man,  with  an  unmistakably  military  bearing, 
small  ears,  and  a  sunburned  neck,  covered  with  short- 
clipped  brown  hair  which  showed  a  tendency  to  curl. 

44 1  wish  you  would  let  this  young  laxly  alone,"  he 
said  in  halting  and  glaringly  foreign  Italian ;  "  I  don't 
see  what  authority  you  have  over  her." 

"Unmask,  you  scoundrel,"  muttered  Grantley, 
stepping  close  up  to  him  with  clenched  teeth,  "  and  I'll 
tell  you  my  opinion  of  you.  And  unless  you  peg  away 
pretty  quickly,"  he  added,  with  a  wholly  mundane 
wrath,  "  I'll  undertake  to  expedite  your  movements  in 
a  way  that  you  won't  like." 

Ho  looked  so  superb  as  he  stood  there,  with  his 
head  lifted  high,  challenging  the  big  black  domino 
that  Gabriella  could  not  suppress  a  thrill  of  admira 
tion.  It  was  in  vain  that  she  darted  frowning  and 
encouraging  glances  at  her  cavalier ;  he  was  obviously 
afraid  of  compromising  himself,  and  Grantley  with 
his  masterful  ways  who  was  afraid  of  nothing  had  in 
that  respect  the  advantage  of  him.  They  would  by 
this  time  have  attracted  attention  and  gathered  a 
crowd  if  the  dance  had  not  been  resumed,  and  each 
couple,  intent  upon  their  own  adventure,  were  charita 
bly  blind  toward  those  of  their  neighbors.  It  was 
only  Burroughs  who  became  the  object  of  tender  per 
secution  on  the  part  of  some  sportive  damsels,  who 
were,  however,  soon  discouraged  by  his  failure  to 
respond  to  their  overtures.  lie  had  retired  a  little 
from  the  group  of  which  Gabriella  was  the  center, 
and  stood  leaning  against  one  of  the  wooden  pillars 


"THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE,  ABSTAIN,  REFRAIN."  1 79 

which  supported  the  gallery.  But  as  he  saw  his  friend 
step  up  in  that  pugnacious  manner  to  the  black  dom 
ino,  he  thought  that  perhaps  it  would  be  prudent  to 
assert  himself  a  little,  so  as  to  add  the  weight  of  his 
presence  to  Grantley's  argument 

"I  warn  you  to  keep  off  strange  preserves,"  he 
heard  the  domino  threaten  in  the  same  halting  Italian  ; 
and  it  struck  him  at  once  that  it  was  a  Toice  he  had 
heard  before.  There  was  a  youthful,  resonant  quality 
in  it,  and  yet  a  certain  nasal  twang  in  its  pronuncia 
tion  of  the  Roman  tongue.  The  unsuccessful  attempt 
to  disguise  it  had  only  emphasized  its  peculiar  Gallic 
inflections. 

Grantley,  still  holding  the  girl  by  the  arm,  his 
unflinching  gaze  fixed  upon  the  masked  cavalier,  was 
evidently  struggling  to  identify  the  voice. 

"Isn't  that  Count  de  Saint-Reault ? "  he  asked, 
turning  to  Burroughs  who  was  at  his  elbow.  Julian 
nodded  affirmatively.  The  domino  gave  a  visible  start 
as  the  name  Saint-Reault  was  pronounced. 

"  Are  you  ready,  sir,"  Grantley  continued,  advanc 
ing  another  step  with  his  great  challenging  front,  "  to 
take  the  consequences  of  this  act  of  yours  ?  It  matters 
not  now  whether  you  unmask  or  not.  I  will  unmask 
you — never  you  doubt  that—before  all  the  world.  I'll 
undertake  to  make  such  cowardly  deeds  as  this  one  of 
yours  as  risky  as  they  are  contemptible." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  replied  the  accused  nobleman,  re 
suming  his  natural  voice,  "  aren't  you  rather  jumping 
at  conclusions  ?  What  have  I  done  to  give  you  the 
right  to  abuse  me  in  this  style  ?  " 

"What  have  you  done?  What  have  you  done  ?" 
repeated  Grantley,  in  a  tone  of  deep  contempt  "  Well, 


180       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

it  wouldn't  surprise  me  if  you  were  sneak  enough  to 
try  and  wriggle  out  of  it" 

"  I  have  simply  taken  this  lady's  part,  and  tried  to 
protect  her  against  your  unwarrantable  presumption." 
"  None  of  that,  young  man,  none  of  that !  I  warn 
you,"  Grantley  broke  forth,  with  the  peremptory  voice 
and  manner  of  his  dragoon  days,  "don't  talk  such 
stuff  to  me." 

The  girl,  who  had  stood  in  a  pose  of  spirited  ex 
pectancy,  flashing  her  vivid  glances  at  the  young  man, 
became  now  suddenly  aware  that  ho  was  beating  a  re 
treat. 

"What  did  you-  say,  Signor  Conte?"  she  asked, 
quietly  removing  her  mask,  and  showing  a  handsome, 
passionate  face,  pale  with  excitement. 

The  count  again  started  at  the  sound  of  his  title, 
and  seemed  by  some  kind  of  ocular  telegraphy  to  be 
trying  to  establish  a  private  understanding.  But  she 
obviously  scorned  such  underhand  dealings,  and  de 
manded  again,  with  fierce  intensity,  "  Count  de  Saint- 
Reault,  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"I  said  that  I'd  be  blasted  if  I  submit  to  this 
insolent  behavior.  What  has  this  clerical  monsieur  to 
do  with  you  or  with  me  ?  " 

Perceiving  that  they  were  beginning  to  attract  un 
pleasant  attention,  they  moved  slowly  down  the  hall 
in  the  space  reserved  for  promenaders,  between  the 
pillars  of  the !  gallery  and  the  wall.  The  scene,  there 
fore,  lost  much  of  its  dramatic  impressiveness,  and 
each  of  the  actors  restrained  his  manner  so  as  to  avoid 
exciting  remark.  Only  Grantley  experienced  difficulty 
in  curbing  his  aggressiveness,  and  it  was  with  a  fine 
ring  of  indignation  that  he  answered :  "  Wherever  a 


"THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE,  ABSTAIN,  REFRAIN."  181 

wrong  is  done  to  one  who  is  weak  and  defenseless 
there  it  is  my  business  to  interfere.  I  mean  now  to 
take  up  the  fight  with  you,  and  I  shall  not  be  done 
with  you,  until  I  have  meted  out  a  punishment  com 
mensurate  with  the  offense.'* 

The  count  made  no  reply  to  this  threat,  and  avoided 
meeting  Gabriella's  appealing  glances.  He  knew  per 
fectly  well  what  Grantley  could  do  to  worry  and  an 
noy  him,  and  he  did  not  deceive  himself  as  to  the  ex 
tent  either  of  his  will  or  his  power.  It  was  especially 
his  acquaintance  with  Constance  Douglas  which  made 
him  formidable ;  for  she  was  not  free  from  Anglo- 
Saxon  prejudice  in  questions  of  this  sort,  and  might, 
in  case  she  were  informed,  choose  to  make  herself 
disagreeable.  The  more  the  count  thought  of  it,  the 
more  reluctant  he  became  to  engage  in  a  fight  with 
the -stalwart  clergyman.  But  he  could  not  afford  to 
pocket  an  affront  '  His  sensitive  Gallic  pride  urged 
him  to  retaliate. 

"  M.  le  Cure,"  he  said,  in  his  toplof  tiest  manner, 
*'  you  take  advantage  of  your  cloth  to  be  insulting. 
You  are  aware  that  gentlemen  of  your  profession  can 
not  be  called  to  account  like  other  mortals." 

The  music,  after  some  tremendous  flourishes,  ceased 
with  the  abruptness  of  a  pistol-shot.  The  crowd 
surged  toward  the  excited  group  and  swept  them 
apart.  And,  as  it  happened,  the  count  was  pushed 
toward  the  wall,  while  Gabriella  and  Grantley  were 
propelled  toward  the  middle  of  the  hall  The  young 
girl,  standing  on  tiptoe,  sent  anxious  glances  in  all 
directions,  while  clinging  to  the  clergyman's  arm. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  her  lover  had  deserted 
her? 


182       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

u  I  wish  you'd  let  me  go,  Mr.  Grantley,"  she  begged, 
with  a  quiver  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  you  may  go,  if  you  like,"  he  answered ;  "  but, 
Gabriella,  what  do  you  think  your  mother  would  have 
said  of  this,  if  she  had  been  alive  ?  " 

"It  would  not  have  happened,  then,"  whispered 
the  girl,  tremulously. 

"  Well,  she  is  alive — though  she  is  dead.  She  sees 
you,  Gabriella.  Can  you  afford  to  do  for  your  own 
pleasure  what  would  have  caused — nay,  will  cause  her 
grief?" 

The  girl  avoided  his  glance  and  looked  away  over 
the  crowd,  but  he  saw  the  tears  gather  in  her  eyes 
and  slowly  roll  down  her  cheeks.  A  little  twitching 
of  her  upper  lip  showed  what  it  cost  her  to  preserve 
this  outward  calm.  The  Italian  part  of  her  nature 
seethed  and  surged  and  threatened  to  burst  out  in  a 
storm  of  tears,  but  her  English  self  restrained  her. 
She  allowed  Grantley,  without  resistance,  to  lead  her 
to  the  door.  But  as  she  crossed  the  threshold  into  the 
vestibule,  her  footsteps  slackened,  and  she  paused  for 
a  moment  and  with  kindling  animation  surveyed  the 
ball-room.  Grantley  urged  her  on.  As  the  green 
baize  doors  swung  to  behind  her  the  interest  suddenly 
died  out  of  her  face. 

With  a  still  and  stony  listlessness,  she  allowed  her 
self  to  be  wrapped  up  and  put  into  a  fiacre.  Bur 
roughs,  not  wishing  to  intrude,  hired  another  vehicle 
to  convey  him  home,  and  took  leave  of  Grantley  as 
he  was  about  to  seat  himself  at  the  young  girl's  side. 
He  saw  her  lean  back  with  a  deadly  weariness.  She 
looked  so  young,  so  tender,  and  so  cruelly  wounded. 
All  the  pity  in  his  heart  went  out  toward  her,  and  a 


"THOU  SHALT  RENOUNCE,  ABSTAIN,  REFRAIN."  183 

keen  sympathy  with  Grantley's  indignation  against 
her  betrayer  quivered  through  his  nerves.  Admir 
ingly  he  watched  his  friend  as  with  a  tender,  paternal 
touch  he  tucked  in  the  robe  about  his  charge  and 
gazed  with  an  exquisite  compassion  at  her  wearily  re 
laxed  form. 

How  marvelous,  indeed,  Julian  thought,  as  he  rat 
tled  away  over  the  pavement,  that  such  strength,  such 
imperious  will  could  dwell  side  by  side  in  the  same  man 
with  such  tenderness,  such  delicacy  of  feeling,  such 
divine  compassion.  He  had  never  before  encountered 
so  exalted  a  spirit  in  any  human  being.  His  friend  was 
two  years  younger  than  himself,  and  scarcely  looked 
more  than  twenty-five.  Nevertheless,  he  asserted  him 
self  not  only  with  the  force  of  a  dominant  personal 
ity,  but  with  a  kind  of  higher  authority  in  which  there 
was  a  touch  of  inspiration — consecration.  And  yet  he 
was  simplicity  itself  in  daily  intercourse ;  jolly,  good- 
natured,  a  trifle  boisterous  at  times,  and  almost  boyish 
in  his  relish  of  a  joke.  He  had  cheerfully  renounced 
all  that  the  world  holds  precious,  but  never  thought  for 
an  instant  of  claiming  any  credit  for  his  sacrifice.  An 
ardent  desire  to  emulate  him  began  to  stir  in  the  depth 
of  Julian's  soul.  He,  too,  had  much  to  give  up.  But 
could  he,  by  following  Grantley's  example,  be  sure  of 
gaining  that  serene  confidence  and  faith  to  which 
Grantley  had  attained  ?  Was  there  any  inherent  vir 
tue  in  renunciation  ?  Would  it  alone  suffice  to  dignify 
and  elevate  his  life  into  a  sphere  of  purer  thought  and 
nobler  motives  than  those  which  now  animated  him  ? 
If  so,  he  felt  in  this  moment  that  he  was  equal  to  the 
sacrifice.  To  strip  his  existence  of  all  false  show  and 
flimsy  ornament,  to  dedicate  his  wealth  to  philanthrope 


184       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

cal  enterprises — "  to  burn  what  he  once  used  to  wor 
ship,  and  worship  what  he  once  used  to  burn  " — of  all 
this  and  more  he  was  capable.  But  the  final,  the  cru 
cial  test  was  not  in  these  things.  Could  he  renounce 
also  the  hope  which  had  brought  him  to  Rome,  the 
hope  which  he  had  so  long  caressed  in  thought,  which 
had  given  a  new  value  to  life,  at  a  time  when  ho  was 
sunk  into  the  deepest  slough  of  despond.  It  seemed  a 
very  unsubstantial  thing  to  renounce — the  mere  base 
less  fabric  of  a  dream,  a  fantastic  hallucination,  per 
haps,  with  not  a  shadow  of  fact  to  support  it.  The  ques 
tion,  "Why  should  he  renounce  it?  scarcely  occurred  to 
him.  In  the  ascetic  frame  of  mind  into  which  he 
had  wrought  himself,  a  great  and  adequate  sacrifice 
seemed  the  only  test  of  sincerity.  How  could  any  one 
load  a  life  of  renunciation  at  Constance  Douglas's 
side,  when  each  breath,  each  glance,  each  touch  would 
be  an  intoxication  of  bliss?  In  an  instinctive  way  he 
classed  her  with  the  glory  of  this  world  which  some 
how  leadeth  to  destruction.  All  the  sweet  florescence 
of  life,  the  throbbing  and  blooming  flesh,  "  the  laurel, 
the  palm,  and  the  pcean,  the  breasts  of  the  nymphs  in 
the  brake  " — all  the  beautiful,  forbidden  things  clus 
tered  about  her  image,  and  made  her  to  his  yearning 
fancy  the  very  type  and  personification  of  that  which 
would  debar  him  from  the  realm  in  which  Grantley 
dwelt.  "  Thou  shalt  abstain,  renounce,  refrain,"  that  is 
the  message  of  Christianity,  and  Burroughs  resolved 
after  a  fierce  struggle  to  obey  the  difficult  behest. 


A  DISGUISED  COMPLIMENT.  185 

CHAPTER  XX. 
A   DISGUISED   COMPLIMENT. 

DELIA  was  sitting  at  her  writing-table,  scribbling 
away  with  ferocious  speed,  and  flinging  each  wet 
sheet,  as  it  was  finished,  on  the  floor.  The  rug  all 
around  her  was  covered  with  large  square  half-sheets, 
scrawled  all  over  with  irregular,  boldly  slanting,  inky 
hieroglyphics.  Now  and  then  she  paused  in  her  labor, 
cocked  her  head  and  smiled  delightedly  at  her  reflec 
tion  in  the  looking-glass,  which  exhibited  a  halo  of 
blonde  horns,  like  a  pre-Eaphaelite  saint  Occasionally, 
when  one  of  the  curl-papers  relaxed  its  hold  upon 
some  yellow  lock,  she  gave  it  a  twist,  and  fell  to  work 
with  renewed  energy.  She  wore  a  loose  blue  cashmere 
wrapper  with  a  lace  cascade ;  and  her  foot,  which 
sometimes  tapped  the  floor  in  impatience  when  the 
ideas  got  into  a  snarl,  was  neatly  shod,  for  Delia  prided 
herself  on  her  neatness,  and  was  especially  particular 
as  to  her  foot  gear.  She  could  see  no  reason,  she 
averred,  why  women  of  intellect,  who  devoted  their 
lives  to  higher  things  than  babies  and  tittle-tattle, 
should  not  dress  as  well  as  anybody— or  at  least  as  well 
as  their  means  permitted.  She  had  no  patience  with 
dowdy  women — unless  they  had  a  grievance  against 
tyrant  man — which,  happily,  most  of  them  had. 

It  was  not  only  as  regards  her  attire  that  Delia  was 
well  contented  with  herself.  She  had  also  a  sublime 
faith  in  her  literary  gift  She  wrote  a  kind  of  slam- 
bang  "  halliballoo  "  style,  full  of  smart  hits,  -which  she 
had  found  effective  in  lecturing.  An  implicit  trust 


186       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

in  the  genuineness  of  her  inspiration  urged  her  on 
with  a  headlong  speed ;  and  as  her  supply  of  language 
was  simply  inexhaustible,  she  was  equal  to  literary 
feats  which  few  of  her  contemporaries  could  have 
rivaled.  This  fatal  fluency  of  hers  was,  in  fact,  one 
of  her  chief  boasts ;  and  she  did  not  hesitate  in  inter 
views  with  reporters  to  compare  her  literary  methods 
with  those  of  the  most  famous  authors  of  the  day. 
She  did  this,  not  with  offensive  self-assertion,  but  with 
clieerf  ul  innocence,  because  she  lacked  all  perception 
of  the  distance  which  separated  her  from  them.  You 
might  call  her  conceited,  and  feel  that,  after  all,  the 
term  did  her  injustice.  If  she  did  overvalue  herself 
(though,  in  such  a  case,  she  may,  indeed,  herself  have 
been  the  best  judge),  she  did  it  with  an  amusing  frank 
ness  and  self-sufficiency  which  made  no  apologies  and 
offended  no  one's  sensibilities.  It  was  like  a  breath  of 
fresh  air  from  the  free  and  untrammeled  West.  It 
seemed  a  racial  rather  than  a  personal  characteristic. 

In  spite  of  her  ability  and  the  voluminous  corre 
spondence  she  was  carrying  on,  Delia  had  had  scant 
success  with  the  emancipation  waist.  "  The  be 
nighted  women  of  Italy  are  too  content  with  the 
masculine  yoke  under  which  they  are  groaning,"  she 
wrote  to  the  central  agency  in  New  York,  "  to  desire 
either  physical  or  spiritual  emancipation."  In  Ger 
many  she  had,  in  response  to  advertisements,  enlisted 
the  interest  of  a  few  rebellious  spinsters,  some  of 
whom  had  consented  to  act  as  agents  in  the  cities 
where  they  lived.  These  she  idealized,  after  her  usual 
fashion,  found  them  possessed  of  all  sorts  of  remark 
able  qualities,  and  addressed  to  them  voluminous 
epistles,  which  brought  equally  voluminous  replies. 


A  DISGUISED  COMPLIMENT.  187 

But  Delia's  mission  was,  for  all  that,  a  hard  one.  It 
was  a  slow  and  up-hill  work,  at  best,  and  any  one  less 
sanguine  than  she  was  would  have  lost  heart. 

The  labor  to  which  she  was  applying  her  versatile 
genius  on  the  morning  after  her  nocturnal  escapade 
had,  however,  nothing  to  do  with  the  emancipation 
waist  She  was  writing  an  account  of  the  night's  ad 
venture  for  her  forthcoming  book  on  Italy,  entitled 
"  Under  Crown  and  Miter."  She  wrote  with  a  zest 
of  which  she  had  rarely  before  been  conscious;  for 
here  she  felt  confident  she  had  secured  delightfully 
fresh  and  novel  material.  She  had  penetrated  into 
the  actual  life  of  the  people.  She  meant  incidentally 
to  expose  a  great  social  evil.  She  would  call  a  spado 
a  spade,  and  not  shrink  from  speaking  boldly,  no  mat 
ter  whom  she  hurt  She  was  just  luxuriating  in  the 
power  of  her  pen  to  hurt,  when  the  chambermaid  en 
tered  and  handed  her  a  card  bearing  a  coronet  and 
the  name  Sir  Percy  Armitage,  Bart.  With  a  frown 
of  annoyance  she  looked  up  and  received  the  paste 
board.  It  was  extremely  inconvenient  at  that  mo 
ment  to  interrupt  her  writing.  But  Sir  Percy  was  so 
good  a  friend  that  she  could  scarcely  refuse  to  see 
him.  She  made,  accordingly,  a  hasty  toilet  before  the 
looking-glass.  "With  an  energetic  scowl  she  pulled 
out  her  curl-papers,  put  half  a  dozen  hair-pins  into  her 
mouth,  and  after  twisting  the  blonde  coils  in  the 
most  ruthless  fashion,  attached  them  on  the  top  of  her 
head.  Finally  she  arrayed  herself  in  her  prettiest 
brown  walking-dress  (for  she  took  it  for  granted  that 
her  admirer  had  come  to  ask  her  to  drive)  and 
descended  into  the  reception  room,  where  Sir  Percy 
was  waiting.  She  noted  an  unwonted  air  of  solemnity 


188       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

in  his  manner  as  he  advanced  to  meet  her,  and  yague- 
ly  guessed  that  he  must  have  something  of  importance 
to  communicate. 

"  I  hope — Miss — aw — Saunders,"  he  began,  in  his 
sonorous  drawl,  "  that — aw — you  have  experienced  no 
ill  effect  from — aw — our  unhappy  adventure  of — aw — 
yesterday." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,  Mr.  Percy,"  she  replied,  briskly. 
"  I  assure  you,  I  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  anything." 

She  fixed  her  frank,  unabashed  gaze  on  Sir  Percy 
with  an  air  of  good  fellowship  which  half  embarrassed 
him.  He  could  have  wished  that  she  would  defer  a 
little  to  him  in  his  masculine  capacity,  if  not  to  his 
rank.  But  it  was  very  likely  that  this  total  lack  of 
perception  on  her  part  as  to  his  dignity,  heightened 
the  charm  she  exercised  over  him.  He  had  been 
courted"  all  his  life,  and  every  whim  of  his  had  been 
treated  with  respectful  consideration.  But  hero  was  a 
person  who  made  fun  of  him  to  his  face,  rode  rough 
shod  over  all  his  prejudices,  and  contradicted  him 
with  good-humored  fearlessness.  Sir  Percy  would  not 
have  thought  it  possible  six  months  ago  that  he  would 
like  such  treatment,  but  surprised  himself  now  by 
rather  relishing  it.  It  was  due  to  his  general  eccen 
tricity,  no  doubt,  he  reasoned,  that  he  should  feel 
pleased  with  a  woman  who  made  absolutely  no  effort 
to  please ;  that  he  should  feel  attracted  to  her  by  the 
very  fact  that  she  showed  no  desire  to  attract  him. 

He  seated  himself  at  Delia's  invitation  in  a  big, 
straight-backed  chair  of  antique  pattern,  ran  his 
hand  cautiously  over  his  scalp,  stroked  his  well- 
trimmed  beard,  and  let  his  eyes  wander  with  a  de 
tached  air  over  the  various  objects  of  art  which  tho 


A  DISGUISED  COMPLIMENT.  189 

room  contained.  Madame  Waldbach  was  particularly 
proud  of  this  salony  which  she  had  furnished  with 
the  spoils  of  the  ages — variegated  remnants  of  historic 
magnificence,  picked  up  at  auctions  and  in  second 
hand  furniture-shops,  refurbished  and  reupholstered 
with  more  regard  for  economy  than  for  harmony  of 
style.  There  was  an  abundance  of  artistic  odds  and 
ends — cracked  vases,  mended  with  stratina ;  big  smoky 
pictures  by  spurious  old  masters,  in  tarnished  frames ; 
a  French  statuette,  in  terra-cotta,  of  a  young  girl  in 
bathing  costume  about  to  take  a  plunge ;  and  a  life- 
size  Medea,  in  plaster,  which  Madame  Waldbach  had 
accepted  for  board  from  a  young  sculptor  who  pos 
sessed  no  other  available  assets.  The  floor  was  painted 
dark-brown  and  covered  with  Oriental  rugs  and  a  big 
tiger-skin  before  the  hearth. 

44 1  fancied,"  said  Sir  Percy,  when  he  had  finished 
his  inspection  of  the  furniture,  "  that — aw — you'd  be 
— aw — annoyed — don't  you  know — at — the — aw — im 
pertinence  of  those — aw — creatures — those  unpleasant, 
short-skirted  girls,  that  were  so — aw — unpleasantly 
frisky." 

44  Oh,  no,  not  a  bit,"  Delia  declared,  cheerfully ;  44 1 
thought,  on  the  contrary,  that  they  were  awfully 
amusing." 

Sir  Percy  had  evidently  not  expected  such  laxity 
of  opinion,  and  it  disconcerted  him  considerably.  He 
began  meditatively  to  poke  a  figure  in  the  rug  with 
his  cane  and  seemed  ill  at  ease. 

44 Then  you  didn't  have  a  good  time,  last  night?" 
Delia  inquired,  after  a  pause  which  threatened  to  be 
come  embarrassing. 

44  No,  my  dear  young  lady,  I  can't  say  I  did,  and — 


190       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

aw — if— aw — you'll  permit  mo  to  bo— aw— a  trifio— • 
aw — personal,  I  must  say  that  I  am — aw — astonished 
that  you — aw — view  the  matter  so — aw — lightly." 

"Well,  how  else  would  you  havo  mo  view  it,  I 
should  liko  to  know  ?  I  don't  ROO  anything  to  bo  sol 
emn  about,  do  you  ?  unlcas  it  was  that  involuntary  jig 
wo  danced.  But  I  am  sure  I  feel  nono  tho  worse  for 
it ;  though  I  guess  it  wasn't  exactly  dignified." 

Sir  Percy  lapsed  again  into  meditation,  and  find 
ing  a  small  hole  in  tho  rug,  proceeded  industriously  to 
make  it  larger. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Percy,"  tho  young  lady  continued,  her 
spirit  of  banter  conquering  her  faint  scruples,  "I 
wouldn't  feel  so  badly  about  it  if  I  were  you.  You 
needn't  bo  afraid  of  being  compromised;  for  I,  you 
know,  was  there  to  chaperon  you." 

44  Compromised  I  "  ejaculated  tho  baronet,  jumping 
up  with  a  flushed  face,  and  placing  himself  squarely 
in  front  of  Delia ;  u  compromised,  did  you  say  ?  Well, 
that's  it,  that's  it,  exactly.  But  it  is — aw — you  who 
are — aw — compromised,  and — aw — not  I.  I  ought  to 
have  known  before — aw — consenting  to  your  proposi 
tion — what  kind  of — aw — place — it  was  I  was — aw — 
taking  you  to.  And  now  I  otter  you  tho  only — aw — 
reparation  possible.  I  will  marry  you,  whenever  you 
— aw — say  the  word." 

44  Marry  mo ! "  cried  tho  girl,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
amusement ;  "  oh,  no,  Mr.  Percy.  That's  too  heroic  a 
remedy.  It  isn't  as  serious  as  all  that  I  wouldn't 
get  so  excited  about  nothing  if  I  were  you.  Don't 
you  see,  you  were  not  in  the  least  to  blame.  It  was  I 
who  led  you  astray ;  but  I  am  not  mean  enough  to 
take  advantage  of  your  innocence.  Let  us  say  noth- 


A  DISGUISED  COMPLIMENT.  191 

ing  moro  about  it ;  and  if  anybody  elso  Bays  anything, 
let  us  own  up  and  laugh  it  away.  That  is  tho  only 
way  to  treat  such  a  ridiculous  affair." 

Sir  Percy  winced  visibly  under  this  exculpation, 
and  opened  his  mouth  repeatedly  to  interrupt.  He 
had  arrived  at  his  conclusion  by  the  process  which, 
with  a  worldly  man,  is  tho  equivalent  of  fasting  and 
prayer,  and  it  was  difficult  to  tell  if  ho  would  ever 
again  be  tuned  up  to  this  heroic  pitch.  Ho  could  not 
afford  to  squander  tho  thought  and  energy  which  ho 
had  expended  in  the  long  debate  of  which  this  reso 
lution  was  the  outcome.  His  chivalrous  instinct  had 
prompted  it;  his  reason  had,  after  long  resistance, 
been  made  to  approve  of  it ;  and  his  heart  had  rebelled 
far  less  than  might  have  been  expected.  That  Delia 
might  refuse  him  had  not  even  occurred  to  him  as  a 
remote  possibility.  But  it  slowly  dawned  upon  him 
now  that  he  had  struck  a  false  note ;  that  he  had  put 
tho  wrong  foot  foremost 

She  was  evidently  a  trifle  hurt  at  his  proposing  to 
marry  her  from  a  sense  of  duty ;  and  though  he  had 
persuaded  himself  that  such  was  the  fact,  he  had  made 
less  allowance  for  her  sentiment  of  self-respect  than 
he  ought  to  have  done.  lie  must,  therefore,  make 
haste  to  amend  the  false  impression.  lie  must  make 
some  reference  to  his  heart — profess  an  irresistible  at 
traction,  an  undying  devotion,  or  something  of  that 
sort 

"  Miss  Saunders,"  he  said,  rising  and  walking 
across  tho  floor;  but  whatever  ho  meant  to  say  he  ex 
perienced  some  unforeseen  difficulty,  and  in  his  em 
barrassment  he  turned  his  majestic  back  on  her  and 
looked  out  of  tho  window. 


192       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

M  Well,  Mr.  Percy,"  said  Delia,  in  laughing  expect 
ancy. 

"  Miss  Saunders,"  repeated  her  visitor,  with  a  tre 
mendous  effort,  as  ho  faced  her  again,  "  what  a  pity— 
what  a  pity — that  wo  have  hearts ! " 

44  Yes,"  cried  Delia,  audaciously  burlesquing  his 
manner, 4<  and — and — stomachs !  " 

She  placed  her  right  hand  with  an  affecting  gest 
ure  on  the  organ  referred  to,  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and 
burst  into  a  ringing  laugh. 

44  Now,  Mr.  Percy,"  she  continued,  with  a  pacifying 
manner,  when  she  had  had  her  laugh,  "you  really 
mustn't  be  angry  with  me.  You  know  I  always  was 
an  awful  tease.  I  can't  help  being  saucy.  I  was  born 
so.  But  I  should  bo  sorry  if  I  had  offended  you  ;  for 
you  have  boon  BO  very  nice  to  mo  that  I  really 
shouldn't  have  known  what  to  do  without  you.  And, 
to  be  frank  with  you,  Mr.  Percy,  I  am  not  tbe  marry 
ing  kind.  I've  got  lots  to  do  before  I  can  afford  to 
think  of  anything  so  frivolous.  If  I  ever  should  bo 
guilty  of  such  folly  I  shall  pity  the  man  who  gets  me. 
I  really  like  you  too  well  to  inflict  myself  upon  you — 
as  a  wife  j  and  if  you  knew  me  as  well  as  I  know  my 
self  you  would  thank  your  stars  that  I  had  more  sense 
than  you  had.1  You  won't  mind  my  talking  plainly 
to  you,  will  you?  You  Englishmen  are  accustomed 
to  boss  things  generally — and  your  wives  in  particular. 
You  know,  I  could  no  more  stand  that  than  I  could 
fly.  With  us  in  America  it  is  quite  different.  There 
the  women  have  the  upper  hand,  as  it  is  right  they 
should  have.  The  men,  seeing  it  is  no  use  to  kick  up 
a  rumpus,  soon  learn  to  sing  small.  Some  wives  rulo 
by  means  of  their  weakness  (which  makes  the  husband 


A  DISGUISED  COMPLIMENT.  193 

feel  like  a  brute  in  opposing  them),  and  others  by  dint 
of  their  strength.  But  rule  they  usually  do,  unless 
they  are  nincompoops  who  lack  the  wit  to  take  ad 
vantage  of  the  opportunities  which  our  legal  and  social 
institutions  throw  in  their  way.  Must  you  go?  Well, 
I  know  I  am  boring  you  with  my  chatter,  but  when 
I  get  on  that  subject,  I  somehow  never  can  stop.  The 
words  run  out  of  me  like  beans  out  of  a  bag.  Well, 
good-by,  I  hope  to  see  you  real  soon.  Mind  you, 
now,  I  shaVt  believe  you  have  forgiven  me  unless  you 
call  soon  again." 

Sir  Percy  had  listened  without  visible  interest  or 
emotion  to  this  fluent  discourse.  It  was  a  relief  to 
him  to  be  absolved  from  talking,  and  ho  was  glad  he 
had  refrained  from  saying  what  in  his  first  wrath  he 
had  been  tempted  to  say.  He  was,  like  most  men  of 
his  physical  habit,  quick-tempered,  but  his  anger  was 
of  short  duration.  He  began  to  suspect  that  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  what  the  young  lady  was 
saying,  and  before  she  had  finished  he  was  inclined  to 
agree  with  her  and  to  congratulate  himself  on  her 
generous  refusal  of  his  offer  of  marriage.  It  was  ex 
traordinary  that  he  could  have  overlooked  the  objec 
tions  which  she  had  so  glibly  enumerated.  With  an 
effort  at  geniality  he  shook  her  hand  at  parting,  and 
managed  to  back  out  of  the  door  with  his  dignity  in 
tolerable  repair.  When  he  was  gone  Delia  had  another 
good  laugh,  in  which  she  checked  herself  suddenly, 
and  walked  back  to  her  room  in  serious  reflection. 
She  tried  to  resume  her  literary  labor,  but  all  her 
pleasure  in  it  was  gone. 


18 


THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 
CHAPTER  XXL 

ELECTIVE  AFFINITIES. 

SIR  PERCY,  arrayed  in  drab  from  his  hat  to  his 
gaiters,  stood  upon  a  box  in  the  railroad  station,  survey 
ing  his  forces,  like  a  field-marshal  on  the  eve  of  a  bat 
tle.  He  held  in  his  hand  a  stout  stick,  with  which  he 
pointed  energetically  now  in  this  direction,  now  in 
that,  while  he  gave  orders  to  a  dozen  liveried  servants, 
who  ran  excitedly  about,  carrying  shawl-straps,  hand 
bags,  and  baskets  of  provisions.  It  was  Sir  Percy's 
habit  to  repay  the  hospitalities  of  which  he  had  been 
the  recipient  during  the  year  by  an  annual  picnic  or 
excursion  into  the  Sabine  or  Alban  Mountains,  to 
which  all  were  invited  who  could  make  out  a  valid 
title  to  his  acquaintance.  On  the  present  occasion 
there  were  about  thirty-five  or  forty  ladies  and  gentle 
men  of  various  nationalities  who  had  been  thus  hon 
ored  ;  and  a  confusion  of  French,  Italian,  and  English 
exclamations  were  heard  from  the  waiting-room,  where 
they  stood  in  scattered  groups  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  doors,  watching  for  the  signal  to  embark.  Among 
the  first  to  step  put  upon  the  platform  when  the  signal 
was  given  was  Miss  Douglas,  escorted  by  Count  de 
Saint-Reault,  with  his  needle-pointed  mustache  and 
goatee.  Although  ho  was  in  civil  attire,  his  bearing 
was  distinctly  military,  and  in  his  manner  there  was  a 
certain  exaggerated  courtesy  which  is  found  nowhcro 
outside  of  France.  The  count  was  taller  and  of  larger 
build  than  the  average  of  his  countrymen ;  and  his 
broad,  masculine  neck  and  small  occiput  showed  a 


ELECTIVE  AFFINITIE&  195 

strain  of  English  blood.  Ho  was  gallantly  stooping  over 
Constance,  or  inclining  his  body  toward  her,  while  she 
spoke,  and  his  expression  and  attitude  betokened  the 
liveliest  admiration.  Beyond  doubt,  there  was  also  an 
unwonted  animation  in  her  features  as  she  glanced  up 
into  the  handsome  officer's  face,  and  with  light  per 
siflage  responded  to  his  hyperbolical  compliments. 
There  was  a  dewy  look  in  her  eyes  and  a  morning 
freshness  in  her  whole  appearance  which  were  ravish 
ing.  With  all  her  simplicity,  you  saw,  if  you  were  a 
connoisseur,  that  she  was  a  consummate  product  of 
civilization.  The  broad-brimmed  brown  Gainsborough 
hat  she  wore,  the  fawn-colored  sack  which  clung  to 
her  trim  figure  as  if  it  were  but  a  divestible  epidermis, 
the  inimitable  perfection  of  arrangement  and  color  in 
every  detail  of  her  attire,  represented  something  un 
attainable  except  to  a  very  select  few  whom  ancestry 
and  environment  have  favored.  The  other  ladies,  as 
they  walked  out  upon  the  platform,  ostensibly  absorbed 
in  the  remarks  of  their  masculine  companions,  were 
furtively  taking  notes  on  Miss  Douglas's  toilet,  and 
wondering  how  under  the  sun  she  could  afford  to  dress 
like  that 

It  was  a  delightfully  good-humored  assemblage 
which  gathered,  under  Sir  Percy's  auspices,  in  the  rail 
road  depot  on  that  pleasant  April  morning.  The  ma 
jority  had  a  sense  of  distinction  at  finding  themselves 
in  such  a  select  company,  and  were  content  with  the 
world  because  they  were  content  with  themselves. 
The  only  ones  who  seemed  unconscious  of  the  honor 
which  had  been  bestowed  upon  them,  and  for  whose 
presence  no  one  seemed  able  to  account,  were  Cordelia 
Saunders  and  her  cousin,  Mr.  Burroughs.  Sir  Percy, 


196       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

who  bad  had  his  own  reasons  for  inviting  them,  took 
pains  to  explain  to  everybody  that  they  were  Americans, 
and  rather  clever  people — you  know — in  fact,  uncom 
monly  clever ;  he  had  wished  to  be  civil  to  them,  just 
out  of  regard  for  Talbot,  who  was. an  uncommonly 
nice  fellow — you  know — and  really  quite  clever — in 
fact,  uncommonly  clever.  Nor  did  Talbot,  when  ho 
overheard  one  of  those  speeches,  dare  to  utter  tho 
astonishment  ho  felt,  and  far  less  to  repudiate  the 
friendship  of  his  aggressive  countrywoman.  That  Sir 
Percy  should  cultivate  Delia  in  private  and  apologize 
for  her  in  public  seemed  to  him  wholly  incomprehen 
sible.  But  what  troubled  him  far  more  was  the  neces 
sity  of  behaving  with  amiable  indifference  to  Bur 
roughs,  whose  presence  affected  him  with  an  awkward 
sense  of  humility  and  irritation.  When  the  guard 
rang  his  bell  and  the  well-dressed,  well-groomed  ladies 
and  gentlemen  took  their  scats  in  the  railroad-coupes, 
ho  managed,  by  a, little  innocent  slyness,  to  become 
incarcerated  in  the  same  compartment  with  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Douglas  and  tho  dazzling  Count  de  Saint-Reault. 
Although  tho  latter's  presence  was  not  a  source  of  un 
alloyed  bliss,  Talbot  had  arrived  at  that  stage  of  in 
fatuation  when  the  tortures  of  jealousy  seemed  prefer 
able  to  those  of  unsatisfied  yearning.  His  faco  was 
bi'ithed  in  happy  blushes  while  he  bowed  to  Mrs. 
Douglas  and  exchanged  the  frigid  civilities  of  an  in 
troduction  with  the  Frenchman.  He  had  nothing  in 
particular  to  say  that  seemed  appropriate  to  the  occa 
sion,  and  therefore  only  smiled  in  amiable  confusion 
and  nestled  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa  where  he  had  Miss 
Constance's  face  in  a  good  light.  Her  mother,  who 
was  a  fussy  little  short-sighted  woman,  with  unmis- 


ELECTIVE  AFFINITIES.  197 

takablo  remnants  of  beauty,  displeased  him  greatly  by 
engaging  him  in  conversation;  and  he  only  concluded 
to  forgive  her  on  the  score  of  a  relationship  which 
seemed  a  claim  to  immortality.  Ho  had  just  resigned 
himself  to  cultivating  the  mother  for  the  daughter's 
sake,  when  to  his  horror  he  saw  that  Miss  Saunders 
had  discovered  him  and  was  steering  straight  toward 
him. 

"  Look  a-here,  Georgia  Talbot,"  she  said,  address 
ing  him  through  the  open  window,  "  I  don't  think  you 
are  as  smart  as  you  think  you  are.  If  you  want  to  run 
away  from  me,  you  have  got  to  hide  better  than  that. 
Mr.  Percy  said  I  was  to  look  after  you,  you  know,  so 
that  you  don't  get  into  mischief,  and  I  mean  to  keep 
my  eye  on  you,  whether  you  like  it  or  not" 

She  beckoned  to  the  guard  to  open  the  door,  and 
without  the  least  ceremony  seated  herself  at  his  side, 
opposite  Mrs.  Douglas.  In  the  same  moment  the  lo 
comotive  shrieked,  and  the  train  began  slowly  to  crawl 
out  of  the  depot.  It  was  a  special  train,  chartered  for 
the  occasion ;  and  it  was  Sir  Percy  himself  who,  in 
token  of  his  proprietorship,  blew  the  whistle  that  set 
it  in  motion.  Under  cover  of  the  noise,  Talbot  man 
aged  to  curse  his  fate  with  sufficient  virulence,  with 
out  outwardly  betraying  his  chagrin,  and  to  make  np 
his  mind  that  it  was  his  duty  to  introduce  Miss  Saun 
ders,  regardless  of  the  consequences.  As  she  was  Sir 
Percy's  guest,  he  had,  of  course,  no  choice  but  to  treat 
her  with  distinguished  consideration.  He  got  through 
with  the  ceremony  of  introduction  rather  more  credit 
ably  than  he  had  expected,  and  watched  admiringly 
the  exquisite  affability  with  which  Constance  received 
the  brusque  approaches  of  the  Beautiful  Heathen. 


198       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

The  train  was  taking  its  time,  winding  slowly  through 
the  hrown  Campagna,  dotted  with  the  tall,  mined 
arches  of  the  Claudian  aqueduct,  and  the  glorious 
tints  of  the  Roman  spring  absorbed  the  mind  and  the 
vision  and  made  the  conversation  kg.  It  was  Delia 
who  first  broke  the  silence,  and  in  a  manner  which 
fairly  made  Talbot  jump. 

"  I  am  real  glad  to  know  you,  Miss  Douglas,"  she 
said,  in  her  abrupt  fashion ;  "  for,  if  you  don't  mind,  I 
should  like  to  interest  you  in  my  efforts  to  introduce 
the  Emancipation  Waist  in  this  country." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  if  I  can  be  of  use  to  you,"  Con 
stance  answered,  a  little  guardedly ;  "  but  what,  pray, 
is  the  Emancipation  Waist  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  don't  say  you  haven't  heard  about  the 
Emancipation  Waist  ?  Well,  I  must  say,  this  is  a  slow 
country.  The  papers  have  been  full  of  it  for  more 
than  two  years.  I  scarcely  ever  take  up  an  American 
paper  but  I  find  a  notice  or  an  advertisement  of  the 
Emancipation  Waist." 

Constance  now  suddenly  perceived  that  the  article 
concerning  which  she  had  thoughtlessly  inquired  bo- 
longed  to  a  part  of  the  feminine  toilet  which  it  would 
bo  embarrassing  to  discuss  in  the  presence  of  M.  do 
Saint-Reault. 

"  It  is  the  charm  of  this  country  to  me  that  it  is 
what  you  call  slow-going,"  she  said,  in  the  hope  of 
dismissing  the  Emancipation  Waist.  "  I  fear  I  am  get 
ting  so  acclimated  to  the  Old  World  that  I  like  it  the 
better  just  because  it  is  old." 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  Americans  get  aw 
fully  corrupted  in  these  foreign  parts,"  Delia  de 
clared,  cheerfully.  "  I  guess  I  should  get  corrupted 


ELECTIVE  AFFINITIES.  199 

myself,  if  I  allowed  myself  to  settle  down  in  an  old 
hole  of  a  palace  and  forget  my  mission  in  life." 

"Ah  I  mademoiselle  has  a  missiong,"  ejaculated 
M.  do  Saint-Reault,  leaning  forward  with  sudden  in 
terest  "  It  is  permit  to  inqui-aro  what  is  ze  charactaro 
of  ze  missiong  of  mademoiselle  ?  " 

Miss  Saunders,  who  was  inclined  to  take  a  super 
cilious  view  of  all  foreigners  (she  professed  especially 
a  hearty  contempt  for  all  that  was  French)  gazed  at 
the  handsome  Gaul  for  a  moment  in  frank  astonish 
ment,  as  Balaam  may  have  gazed  at  his  ass  when  it 
opened  its  mouth  and  spake.  She  felt  wofully  tempted 
to  mimic  his  manner  of  speech,  and  it  cost  her  an 
effort  to  restrain  herself.  "Well,"  she  answered, 
with  a  laugh,  "  the  Emancipation  Waist — that  is  my 
missiong." 

She  gave  a  little  French  twist  to  the  last  word,  just 
to  try  if  ho  would  notice  it ;  but  apparently  he  was 
incapable  of  believing  that  she  would  make  fun  of 
him  to  his  face, 

"  Ze  emancipation  o'aist,"  he  said,  looking  at  Miss 
Douglas,  as  if  in  search  of  information :  "  zat  is,  I 
zink,  you  say — a  papare — a  newspapare." 

"The  Emancipation  Waist  a  newspaper!"  cried 
Delia,  with  a  hearty  laugh ;  "  oh,  no,  sir ;  it  is  an  ar 
ticle  of  underwear  for  ladies," 

"  An  article  of  underwear !  vat  is  zat  ? "  he  in 
quired,  appealing  again  to  Constance  with  his  express 
ive  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  garment,  count,"  answered  Mrs.  Douglas 
in  French,  hastening  to  her  daughter's  rescue— "a 
garment  like  this." 

She  made  a  descriptive  gesture  with  both  hands 


200       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

down  her  waist,  which  conveyed  an  approximate  idea 
of  what  she  meant. 

"  I  zank  you,"  said  M.  do  Saint-R6ault.  *'  Mais  a 
garment — 'ow  you  mague  zat  a  rnissiong  ?  " 

44  Well,  that  is  what  most  people  don't  see,"  Delia 
replied,  with  eager  promptness ;  "  they  don't  Bee  that 
the  welfare  of  the  race  is  at  stake  in  it — that  the 
health  and  strength  and  happiness  of  unborn  genera 
tions  depend  upon  the  dress  reform  to  which  I  mean 
to  devote  my  life.  It  is  the  question  whether  civiliza 
tion  is  to  survive  or  be  wrecked  by  woman's  fatal  folly 
and  man's  crime  in  admiring  and  encouraging  her 
folly." 

She  was  quoting  from  the  printed  circular  which 
she  had  composed,  explaining  the  disastrous  effects  of 
the  female  corset,  proving  that  the  corset- wearing  na 
tions  were  bound  to  succumb  in  the  struggle  for  ex 
istence  to  the  non-corsot-wearing,  and  that,  as  tho 
former  were  now  tho  standard-bearers  of  civilization, 
the  Emancipation  Waist  had  really  no  less  an  object 
than  the  preservation  of  civilization. 

44  You  know,"  she  continued,  earnestly,  with  a 
direct  appeal  to  the  count,  "  that  the  corset  impedes 
the  circulation  of  tho  blood  and  prevents  you  from 
taking  a  full,  deep  breath.  It  accordingly  reduces 
your  vitality  some  fifteen  to  twenty  per  cent  below  par, 
according  to  the  tightness  with  which  you  lace.  And 
only  think  what  that  means!  It  is  just  that  little 
margin  which  determines  success  or  failure — survival 
or  non-survival.  And,  as  you  know,  it  is  not  only  tho 
present  generation  that  suffers;  the  reduced  vitality 
in  three  distinct  ways  affects  the  generation  still  un 
born  or  about  to  be  born.  Women  who  lace  during 


ELECTIVE  AFFINITIES.  201 

the  child-bearing  period  rob  their  infants  of  the  capi 
tal  of  lifo  and  strength  which  is  their  due.  They 
bring  a  puny  child  into  the  world  instead  of  a  lusty 
one;  a  predestined  failure  instead  of  a  predestined 
success ;  perhaps  a  vicious  weakling,  because  vice  is 
often  but  a  form  of  disease — " 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Saunders,"  Mrs.  Douglas  in 
terrupted,  anxious  lest  the  lady's  enthusiasm  might 
carry  her  too  far,  "  but  if  you  would  call  upon  us  pri 
vately  we  should  be  happy  to  hear  of  your  labors  as 
a  dress-reformer.  Count  de  Saint-Reault,  you  know, 
is  not  married,  and  can  scarcely  do  anything  for  your 
cause — " 

"  Indeed  he  can,  madam,"  broke  in  the  undaunted 
Delia.  "If  the  count  will  promise  me  never  to  ad 
mire  or  make  love  to  any  woman  who  wears  a  cor 
set,  he  will  do  more  for  my  cause  than  a  dozen  edito 
rials." 

"  Mademoiselle  is  vary  polite,"  the  count  asserted, 
smiling.  *'  But  BO  many  ozzers  would  mague  love — 
zat  is  what  you  say  ? — to  zose  ladies,  zay  would  not 
miss  me." 

"  Then  show  your  heroism  by  making  love  to  those 
without  corsets,"  cried  Delia. 

" Zat  would  be  a  test  of  my  sincerity,  en  vfoite" 
the  Parisian  responded,  with  the  expressive  national 
shoulder-shrug.  "  But,  mademoiselle,  I  razzer  do  ze 
ozzer.  I  razzer  not  mague  love." 

"  Well,  you  can  have  your  choice.  But,  mind  you, 
I  am  going  to  keep  watch  of  you." 

"  You  watch  me  ?  Vary  well  But  I  am  deeffeecult 
to  watch,  mademoiselle,  extremely  deeffeecult." 

The  magnificent  rain  of  Sette  Basse,  a  villa  which 


202       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

in  imperial  times  must  have  seen  some  deep-lined  Bo- 
man  life,  here  attracted  the  attention  of  the  travel 
ers,  and  gave  the  conversation  an  archaeological  turn. 
Delia  said  she  guessed  the  Romans  had  a  high  old  time, 
but  asserted  that  in  the  matter  of  dress  their  women 
wore  far  ahead  of  their  modern  sisters.  Mrs.  Douglas, 
fearing  that  this  was  introductory  to  another  chapter 
on  the  emancipation  waist,  hastened  to  engage  the 
count  in  a  discussion  concerning  the  comparative  ad 
vantages  of  European  and  American  life.  In  the  mean 
while,  the  train  rolled  along  at  a  leisurely  rate  over 
the  Campagna,  and  shrieked  a  great  deal  without  visi 
ble  provocation.  The  indefinable  charm  of  this  somber 
historic  plain,  where  the  very  grass  under  your  feet 
sprouts  with  the  rank  life  of  the  buried  Caesars,  turned 
the  minds  of  Sir  Percy's  guests  into  a  lower  and  gentler 
key.  Some  lapsed  into  silence  because  it  seemed  a 
sacrilege  to  disturb  such  rich  and  mellow  peace  by 
shrill  and  irrelevant  speech. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


JULIAN  BURROUGHS,  unsuspicious  of  the  triumph 
which  Talbot  was  celebrating,  had  purposely  avoided 
the  coup6  in  which  Miss  Douglas  and  her  party  were 
seated.  He  was  so  full  of  his  idea  of  renunciation  and 
his  desire  to  live  a  worthier  life  that  anything  which 
seemed  to  interfere  with  this  purpose  became  to  him 
a  danger,  a  temptation  which  was  to  be  shunned. 


SIR  PERCY'S  FfiTE  CHAMPfiTRE.  203 

Grantlcy,  having  become  convinced  of  his  sincerity, 
had  encouraged  his  ascetic  tendency  because  he  felt 
that  it  was,  at  least,  a  necessary  stage  in  his  spiritual 
growth.  And  now  the  two  friends  were  seated  to 
gether  in  the  coup6  next  to  the  engine,  which  no  one 
else  had  invaded,  discussing  the  buried  treasures  of 
the  Tiber  and  the  probable  aspect  of  ancient  Rome. 
Grantley  maintained  that  as  the  world  grew  happier  it 
would  grow  outwardly  less  beautiful ;  that,  as  the  aver- 
ago  of  human  happiness  rose,  tho  average  of  architect 
ural  beauty  would  bo  lowered. 

"  Don't  imagine,  on  that  account,  that  I  prefer  the 
present  state  of  things,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "No, 
I  am  ready  to  sacrifice  a  good  deal  of  aesthetic  beauty 
in  exchange  for  physical  and  spiritual  well-being.  De 
mocracy,  if  it  means  anything,  means  tho  gradual  ele 
vation  of  the  masses  to  a  participation  in  the  good 
things  which  a  privileged  minority  of  mankind  have 
hitherto  kept  for  themselves.  It  is  the  present  unequal 
distribution  which  enables  tho  few  to  cultivate  beauty 
— live  in  palatial  dwellings  crowded  with  pictures, 
statues,  and  bric-ct-brac — bat 'as  the  democratic  mil 
lennium  draws  nigh,  that  which  now  goes  toward  the 
adornment  of  the  most  favored  lives  will  be  devoted 
to  the  elevation  of  the  least  favored." 

"  Aren't  you  just  a  little  bit  of  a  Socialist?  "  asked 
Julian,  to  whom  this  prophecy  had  an  unfamiliar 
sound. 

"  No ;  not  a  bit,"  the  clergyman  replied.  "  I 
don't  want  anything  liko  a  violent  redistribution  of 
the  world's  wealth;  but  I  believe  that  there  are 
tremendous  forces  at  work  in  the  world  which  tend 
toward  a  more  approximate  equalization  of  the  lot  of  ' 


204       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

mon.  Thoro  will  always  bo  inequality  of  fortune,  as 
there  will  bo  inequality  of  intellectual,  moral,  and 
physical  equipment;  but  government,  which  is  now 
largely  a  joint-stock  company  run  for  the  benefit  of 
those  who  least  need  to  be  favored  at  the  expense  of 
their  follow-men,  will,  I  am  confident,  gradually  lose 
this  character  as  the  down- trodden  multitudes  gain 
the  intelligence  to  see  their  own  interest,  which  now 
they  are  far  from  possessing.  All  I  want  to  see — and 
which  my  great-grandchildren  will,  perhaps,  see — is 
not  the  favoring  of  the  weak  at  the  expense  of  the 
strong,  but  (us  far  as  natural  laws  will  permit),  the 
cessation  of  discrimination  against  the  weak  and  the 
unblushing  discrimination  in  favor  of  the  strong." 

"  Would  you  dare  to  preach  that  from  your  pul 
pit?"  asked  Julian,  deeply  interested. 

"  I  not  only  dare  to  preach  it,  but  I  have  preached 
it,  and  am  constantly  preaching  it  The  beauty  of  the 
church  to  which  I  have  the  privilege  to  belong  is  that 
it  is  less  hide-bound  in  obsolete  and  unyielding  doc 
trine  than  any  other  that  is  entitled  to  the  name  of 
Christian.  It  docs  not  (in  practice,  at  least,)  demand 
an  undeviating  uniformity  of  belief,  which,  with  the 
dissimilarities  of  the  human  heart  and  mind,  is  an  im 
possibility.  It  does  not  declare  war  against  modern 
progress ;  it  has  no  fear  of  scientific  discovery ;  it  ad 
mits  the  principle  of  growth,  and,  while  holding  fust 
to  the  central  doctrines  of  Christianity,  anathematizes 
no  one,  and  pretends  neither  to  open  nor  close  the 
gates  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  It  includes  ascetics, 
ritualists,  broad  churchmen,  and  even  skeptics.  It  has 
room  for  all  tendencies  and  condemns  none  as  long 
as  it  is  compatible  with  acceptance  of  Christ  and  tho 


SIR  PERCY'S  FfiTE  CHAMPfiTRE.  205 

endeavor  to  walk  iu  his  footsteps ;  it  is  the  true  Catho 
lic  Church." 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  when  the  train  began 
to  climb  the  little  declivity,  overgrown  with  corn  and 
olives,  upon  which  Frascati  is  situated,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  it  steamed  into  the  station.  Sir  Percy, 
blowing  his  whistle  (though  it  was  hard  to  tell  why), 
ordered  the  doors  to  bo  opened,  and  the  company 
gathered  about  him,  expressing  their  delight  at  the 
weather,  the  railroad-journey,  the  views,  and  the  per 
fection  of  his  arrangements ;  and  it  was  a  fact  that 
every  possible  want  had  been  anticipated  and  every 
contingency  foreseen.  Sir  Percy  was  a  master  in  at 
tention  to  detail,  and  had  a  well-earned  reputation 
as  an  organizer  of  excursions.  Twenty-five  frowzy  but 
safe-looking  donkeys  were  in  waiting,  each  labeled 
with  the  name  of  the  lady  for  whom  it  was  destined, 
and  some  of  the  excursionists  who  knew  their  host's 
peculiarities  pretended  to  look  also  foe  labels  indicat 
ing  the  gentlemen  who  were  to  bo  attached  to  each  lady 
as  entertainers  and  escorts.  Being  left  to  the  caprice 
of  natural  selection,  these  creatures  proceeded  to  illus 
trate  that  cruel  and  ungenerous  law  in  accordance 
with  Darwin.  No  less  than  six  of  them  thronged 
about  Miss  Douglas,  contending  for  the  honor  of 
assisting  her  into  the  saddle,  while  there  was  a  corre 
sponding  number  of  ladies  who  had  to  depend  upon 
the  gallantry  of  the  donkey-drivers.  Sir  Percy  man 
aged,  however,  by  a  few  nods  and  becks  and  whispered 
directions  to  distribute  the  eager  cavaliers,  though  in 
some  cases  not  exactly  to  their  satisfaction.  M.  de 
Saint-Reault,  who  was  in  this  respect  a  radiant  excep 
tion,  was  left  in  charge  of  Misa  Douglas ;  but  Talbot, 


206       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

whose  feelings  were  ruthlessly  trampled  upon,  found 
himself  attached  to  Miss  Saunders.  Two  English 
secretaries  of  legation  (one  of  whom  had  earned 
notoriety  by  being  ejected  from  the  Pope's  reception 
on  account  of  his  refusal  to  kneel)  wore  taken  in  tow 
by  Miss  Bush  and  Miss  Bromilold,  two  Romanized 
American  damsels  who  dabbled  in  the  arts  and  ex 
celled  in  fine  talk.  The  famous  German  historian 
Montrovius,  who  looked  like  a  bearded  Apollo  grown 
old,  oilorod  his  distinguished  company  to  Lady  Mul- 
fjruvo,  who  WIIH  lying  with  her  yucht  and  hor  IniRbiind 
at  Civita  Vecchia,  while  Lord  Mulgravo  devoted  him 
self  to  patronizing  the  novelist  Mrs.  Pearl  Shinn,  in 
whoso  career  ho  promised  to  interest  himself  on  her 
return  to  England.  Sir  Percy  attached  himself  to  no 
0110,  QH  hiw  supervision  v>  as  everywhere  needed. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight — the  long,  many-colored  pro 
cession,  climbing,  single  file,  the  steep  slope  that  leads 
from  the  town  to  the  Villa  Aldobrandini,  which  Sir 
Percy  had  hired  from  Prince  Borgheso  for  the  occa 
sion.  The  skies  overhead  were  radiantly  blue  at  the 
zenith,  but  shaded  downward  into  soft,  golden  tints. 
There  was  a  bright,  vernal  tone  in  the  sunshine,  and 
the  dense,  dark  masses  of  stone-pines  traced  them 
selves  in  golden  haloes  against  the  horizon.  It  seemed 
a  glorious  tiling  to  live ;  and  the  brief  span  of  years 
that  has  been  granted  us,  midway  between  the  throng 
ing  generations  of  tho  unborn  and  the  dead,  was  a  rich 
boon — an  unalloyed  blessing.  All  tho  harassing  cares 
which,  in  the  New  World,  complicate  the  problem  of 
existence,  making  us  old  before  our  time,  seemed  re 
moter  than  the  age  of  the  Pharaohs,  and  more  unreal 
than  tho  "  Arabian  Nights."  The  young  girls  laughed 


SIR  PERCY'S  FfiTE  CHAMPfiTRE.  207 

with  hearty  abandon  as  they  rodo  past  the  somber 
villas  that  brood  over  untold  tragedies.  Delia,  after 
having  exasperated  Talbot  by  her  puns  and  irrev 
erent  talk,  broke  off  a  twig  of  a  young  olive-tree  and 
presented  it  to  him  with  the  request  that  he  follow 
the  example  of  Noah's  dove. 

"  What  did  she  do?  "  ho  asked,  sullenly. 

"  She  was  gone  for  eight  days,"  was  the  cheerful 
reply. 

lie  was  about  to  take  the  hint  and  seek  more  con 
genial  company,  but  she  peremptorily  called  him 
back. 

"  Look  here,  Georgie  Talbot,"  she  said, "  I  am  aware 
you  don't  like  me,  but  that  doesn't  trouble  me  a  bit 
I  like  you,  and  that's  enough.  You  are  a  very  nice 
boy,  though  you  are  not  always  well-behaved.  Now, 
you  are  dying  to  tell  me  that  you  are  in  love  with  Miss 
Douglas,  but  you  are  a  little  bashful." 

Talbot,  hardly  knowing  what  to  answer,  kicked  the 
stones  angrily  out  of  the  path. 

"  Why  must  you  always  treat  me  as  if  I  were  a 
child?  "  he  asked,  blushing  to  the  tips  of  his  ears. 

"  I  surely  don't  treat  you  as  a  child  when  I  ask  you 
about  your  love-affairs." 

"  Yes,  you  do." 

"  Well,  Georgie,  you  are  a  child.  You  are  one  of 
the  most  charmingly  unsophisticated  and  inexperi 
enced  boys  I  have  ever  known.  Any  woman  who 
thought  it  worth  while  could  make  you  fall  in  love 
with  her." 

"  Suppose  you  try." 

"  I  ?  Why,  my  dear  boy,  I  have  other  things  to 
do.  I  am  not  here  for  sentimental  purposes.  And,  if 


208       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

you'll  excuse  me,  if  I  ever  go  hunting  I  shall  go  for 
bigger  game." 

"  I  like  your  insolence,  at  least." 

"  No,  you  don't  But  you  will  by  and  by.  You 
know,  all  my  friends,  and  my  enemies  too,  for  that 
matter,  make  a  point  of  telling  me  tHeir  love-affairs. 
It  is  my  fate  to  be  a  depository  and  trust-company  for 
other  people's  heart-secrets." 

44 1  should  think  you  would  rebel." 

44  Oh,  no ;  I  rather  like  it.  It  is  a  diversion  among 
my  more  serious  pursuits.  Do  you  know,  I  am  very 
fond  of  gentlemen  ?  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do 
without  them.  They  are  so  nice  and  harmless  and 
jolly,  and  then  they  dress  so  well.  I  assure  you,  I 
positively  dote  on  them — that  is,  of  course,  within 
their  proper  sphere." 

Talbot  had  to  laugh,  in  spite  of  his  vexation,  at 
this  characterization  of  his  sex,  and  he  began  to  un 
derstand  why  Sir  Percy  found  Delia  such  good  com 
pany. 

44  You  ought  to  tell  that  to  Sir  Percy,"  he  said. 

44  Sir  Percy  ?  Oh,  no !  I  am  like  Shakespeare  in 
that  respect — I  never  repeat.  But  since  you  speak  of 
Mr.  Percy,  isn't  he  a  nice  old  gentleman  ?  I  should 
never  have  believed  that  I  could  like  an  Englishman 
so  much." 

44  If  he  heard  you  call  him  an  old  gentleman  it 
would  be  the  end  of  his  liking  for  you." 

44  Is  that  so  ?  But  he  is  as  bald  on  the  top  of  his 
head  as  a  Limburger  cheese." 

44  Hush !    There  he  is." 

Sir  Percy,  who  was  a  famous  pedestrian,  came 
stalking  along  with  an  Alpenstock  in  his  hand,  mop- 


SIR  PERCY'S  FfiTE  CHAMP^TRE.          209 

ping  his  forehead  with  a  large  yellow  silk  handker 
chief. 

"  Permit  me— aw — to  call  your  attention — aw — to 
this  view,"  he  exclaimed,  sweeping  with  his  stick  the 
line  of  the  horizon. 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  fine,"  answered  Miss  Saunders,  in 
differently. 

"  You  observe — aw — the  villa  over  there — how 
grandly  it — aw — rises  against  the  sky  ?  " 

"  Yes,  quite  grandly." 

"  That  is  the  Villa  Torlonia ;  rather  bad  style,  you 
know.  But — aw — any  pile  of  masonry — aw — against 
such  a  background  would — aw — be  impressive." 

"  If  I  could  live  in  a  villa  like  that,  I  should  want 
to  live  forever,"  remarked  Talbot. 

"  You  mean  if  you  could  have  the  choice  of  your 
companion  for  eternity,"  ejaculated  Delia.  "  Now, 
Georgio,  beware,  or  you'll  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag 
before  you  know  it. — Do  you  know,  Mr.  Percy,"  she 
went  on,  turning  to  the  baronet,  '*  this  foolish  boy  has 
been  falling  in  love,  and  he  tells  me  he  is  going  to 
jump  from  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's  if  the  lady  refuses 
him?" 

"  Why,  my  dear  fellow !  "  cried  Sir  Percy,  in  genu 
ine  alarm.  "  I  hope  you  are  not  serious  ?  " 

"Miss  Saunders  is  romancing,  Sir  Percy,"  said 
Talbot,  quietly.  "  She  has  been  trying  to  extract  a 
confession  from  me  which  I  have  declined  to  make." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  have  it  yet,"  said  Delia,  laughing. 

Half  an  hour's  ride  over  stony  paths,  under  the 

crowns  of  ilexes  and  olive  trees,  brought  the  merry 

procession  to  the  gate  of  the  Villa  Aldobrandini,  which 

swung  open  upon  its  grating  hinges  to  receive  them, 

14 


210       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

The  villa,  "whose  beauty  consists  more  in  its  size  than 
its  architectural  design,  rises  magnificently  from  a 
succession  of  terraces  against  a  background  of  ilex  and 
bright-hued  shrubbery,  its  grea/t,  dingy,  weather-beaten 
front  looking  down  upon  a  rbtous  wilderness  of  vege 
tation.  There  are  stately  ilex  avenues,  choked  up  with 
weeds  and  ending  in  a  jungle-  of  tangled  vines ;  there 
are  long,  humid  tunnels  under  the  terraces,  where 
green  and  brown  lizards  slip  over  the  dilapidated  pave 
ment  ;  there  are  ridiculous  rococo  statues  of  wood  and 
marble,  the  former  fast  decaying,  the  latter  reclaimed 
by  Nature,  who  has  kindly  clothed  them  in  garments 
of  green ;  there  is  an  artificial  cataract,  descending  in 
a  series  of  cascades  from  one  mossy  stone  basin  into 
another,  and  filling  the  air  with  its  gentle,  unceasing 
murmur ;  there  are  damp,  dusky  arbors  with  marble 
seats,  cracked  and  weather-scained,  whose  dense,  in 
scrutable  privacy  is  haunted  with  the  amorous  whispers 
of  stately  ecclesiastical  ghosts,  But,  in  spite  of  neglect 
and  decay  and  the  fantastic  TOCOCO  taste  which  every 
where  crops  out,  there  is  an  indescribable  grandeur 
over  it  all — an  august  historic  air,  as  if  each  century 
that  passed  over  the  palace  had  left  its  dark  deposits  of 
human  experience  for  you  to  decipher. 

After  having  dismounted  from  the  donkeys,  Sir 
Percy's  guests  scattered  through  the  spacious  halls  of 
the  villa,  which  gave  an  uncomfortable  resonance  to 
their  voices  and  steps,  inspected  the  conventional 
mythological  frescoes  of  Car  d'Arpino,  and  speculated 
upon  the  character  of  the  people  and  the  life  which 
these  lofty  walls  once  inclosedo 

"  They  lived  spaciously,  those  ecclesiastical  princes 
of  the  Renaissance,"  remarked  Talbot,  who  had  man- 


SIR  PERCY'S  FftTE  CHAMP&TRE.  2H 

aged  to  constitute  himself  Miss  Douglas's  cicerone 
through  the  villa.  "  Oh,  how  I  envy  them — those 
fine,  cynical,  unscrupulous  epicures ! " 

44  And  why  do  you  envy  them  ?"  she  asked,  marvel 
ing  a  little  at  the  ardor  of  his  speech. 

44  Oh,"  he  exclaimed,  tossing  his  head  recklessly, 
"  I  envy  them  because  they  had  red  blood  in  their 
veins  and  were  not  afraid  if  the  world  knew  it.  They 
lived  in  a  dagger-and-poison  atmosphere,  and  carried 
gayly  their  lives  in  their  hands,  armed  to  the  teeth  for 
defense  and  offense  —  beautiful,  sleek,  dangerous 
beasts  of  prey,  with  velvet  paws;  graceful  and  pol 
ished  ;  delighting  with  an  exquisite  delight  in  art  and 
poetry ;  connoisseurs  and  patrons  of  sculptors,  paint 
ers,  and  archaeologists;  splendid,  warm-blooded  per 
sonages  that  moved  through  life  with  pomp  and  cir 
cumstance  and  left  long  shining  trails  behind  them." 

Constance,  perceiving  the  daring  light  in  the  young 
artist's  eyes  as  he  spoke,  grew  a  trifle  uneasy.  She  had 
never  suspected  such  a  positive  personality  in  this 
small  and  rather  dainty  man,  whose  adoration  of  her 
she  had  been  at  pains  to  repress.  She  liked  well 
enough  to  have  him  adore  her,  but  it  must  be  respect 
fully  and  discreetly,  and  without  annoying  demon 
strations.  She  wished  now  that  somebody  would 
come  and  relieve  her  of  the  necessity  of  keeping  him 
within  bounds. 

44 1  don't  envy  those  unscrupulous  prelates,"  she 
said,  rather  aimlessly ;  "  I  should  have  been  afraid  of 
them." 

u  So  should  I,  perhaps,"  Talbot  exclaimed,  eagerly ; 
"but  I  should  have  enjoyed  being  afraid  of  them. 
Can't  you  see  them  sit  out  on  the  balcony  there, 


212       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

around  that  cracked  marble  table,  sipping  their  wine, 
and  discussing,  with  bright  predatory  smiles,  their 
villainous  ecclesiastical  politics,  through  which  ran 
the  unscrupulous  love  intrigue  like  a  red  thread 
gleaming,  by  chance,  through  the  tangle  of  silver  and 
gold  ?  They  ruled  the  world,  those  cunning  scarlet- 
robed  princes  of  the  Church.  What  wonder  that 
(bachelors  though  they  were)  they  required  palaces 
covering  a  couple  of  acres  to  shelter  their  compre 
hensive  households,  and  small  armies  of  attendants  to 
minister  to  their  complicated  wants !  One  can  not 
help  respecting  a  man  who  stalks  into  life  with  such 
magnificent  demands.  And  what  wretched  little  in 
significant  pygmies  are  we  not,  compared  with  them, 
content,  as  we  are,  if  we  can  only  gain  a  tolerable 
livelihood  and  sneak  through  existence  without  harm 
ing  anybody  or  being  harmed  ! " 

Miss  Douglas  gazed  up  at  the  walls  of  the  stately 
apartment — the  appartimento  nobile  of  the  villa — in 
which  they  were  standing,  and  suddenly  discovered  in 
Talbot's  words  the  most  illuminative  commentary. 
She  forgot  her  anxiety  and  began  to  enjoy  his  impul 
sive  eloquence.  The  villa  acquired  a  definite  and 
highly  enjoyable  character  to  her,  and  her  fine  eyes 
lighted  up  with  an  unwonted  animation. 

"Why,  Mr.  Talbot,"  she  ejaculated,"!  can't  be 
lieve  you  are  an  American.  Don't  you  know  all  that 
is  the  rankest  heresy  in  our  great  republic  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  it !  I  know  it !  But,  Miss  Douglas, 
you  would  scarcely  believe  it,  but  I  have  a  grudge 
against  Fate — or  rather  a  hundred  thousand  grudges. 
It  was  first  a  cruel  joke  to  make  a  man  like  me  an 
American;  then  I  ought  to  have  been  born  in  the  six- 


SIR  PERCY'S  FfiTE  CIIAMPJ&TRE.  213 

tcenth  century  instead  of  the  nineteenth.  0,  how  I 
hate  this  pale,  well-bred,  self -res  trained  ago  !  I  should 
have  been  content  to  wake  up  some  fine  morning  with 
a  dagger  in  my  throat,  if  I  only  could  have  lived  be 
fore  dying.  Now  I  shall  go  to  my  grave  a  miserable, 
virtuous,  self-restrained  dauber,  and  no  one  will  ever 
suspect  how  red  the  blood  was  that  ran  in  my  veins." 

44  It  will  bo  your  own  fault  if  you  do  not  show  us," 
Constance  remarked,  unguardedly,  and  she  repented 
of  her  words  before  they  were  out  of  her  mouth. 

"  Ah,  no,  Miss  Douglas,  it  will  be  your  fault,"  he 
murmured,  in  a  low  voice,  through  which  the  deep 
passion  trembled ;  "  you  know  you  can  do  with  me 
what  you  like.  Since  I  have  seen  you,  I  revolve  like  a 
helpless  satellite  about  you  and  receive  only  my  light 
and  life  from  your  countenance." 

There  was  a  touching  humility  and  fervor  in  his 
voice  which  suddenly  brought  the  tears  into  Con 
stance's  eyes.  She  pitied  him  so  profoundly,  and  yet 
could  never  think  of  giving  her  own  stately  and  com 
plex  self  into  his  keeping. 

"Mr.  Talbot,"  she  said,  with  a  sweet  kindliness 
which  struck  a  chill  to  her  adorer's  heart, "  I  am  sorry 
that  you  should  entertain  this  sort  of  feeling  for  me, 
and  I  pray  you  to  do  what  you  can  to  rid  yourself  of 
it  You  know  I  am  older  than  you,  and  that  in  itself 
ought  to  bo  enough  to  put  all  such  thoughts  out  of 
your  head." 

44  And  you  are  tailor  than  I  am  and  prouder  than 
I  am  and  richer  than  I  am,"  Talbot  muttered,  smil 
ing  bitterly;  ubut  I  can  not  help  loving  you,  any 
more  than  I  can  help  breathing.  You  may  think  that 
it  is  mere  wild  foolish  talk,  when  I  say  that  I  should 


2H       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

die  if  I  were  to  be  deprived  of  the  sight  of  you.  But 
I  feel  it  in  the  bottom  of  my  soul  that  life  is  impossi 
ble  to  me  away  from  you." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

"WHO  CAN  CONTEND  WITH  THE  GODS?" 

THEY  had  been  alone  in  the  vast  room,  the  rest  of 
the  company  having  ascended  to  the  upper  floors. 
But  now  a  door  was  opened  in  front  of  them,  and 
they  found  themselves  face  to  face  with  Grantley  and 
Julian  Burroughs.  The  clergyman,  seeing  Constance, 
went  toward  her  with  both  his  hands  outstretched,  his 
face  beaming  with  pleasure.  Burroughs  gave  a  start 
of  surprise  and  blushed.  There  was  no  way  of  escap 
ing  without  positive  rudeness.  For  Grantley,  not 
knowing  any  reason  for  refraining,  would  surely  seize 
the  opportunity  to  introduce  him. 

"My  dear  Miss  Douglas,"  he  heard  him  say,  "I 
am  enchanted  to  see  you.  And  you,  too,  Mr.  Tal- 
bot;  I  hope  you  are  well.  But  how  is  this?  You 
don't  know  Mr.  Burroughs  !  How  extraordinary !  I 
should  think  that  you  would  be  the  kind  of  people 
who  would  know  each  other  by  inspiration — by  in 
stinct.  Well,  better  late  than  never.  Miss  Douglas — 
Mr.  Burroughs.  Now  make  up  for  the  time  you  have 
lost  in  missing  each  other's  delightful  company." 

A  strange,  tingling  numbness  possessed  Burroughs 
as  he  stood  bowing  in  front  of  the  woman  who,  un 
knowingly,  had  filled  his  life  for  so  many  months. 


"WHO  CAN  CONTEND  WITH  THE  GODS!"    215 

His  sense  of  her  beauty  was  overwhelming.  lie  drew 
himself  tensely  erect  after  having  acknowledged  the 
introduction,  merely  to  assert  his  dignity,  to  steady  his 
nerves,  to  overcome  the  tremor  of  deference  and  ab 
ject  admiration  which  all  but  deprived  him  of  his  self- 
control.  Her  quiet  affability — tho  gentle,  tempered 
radiance  of  her  smile,  her  look,  her  entire  personality 
— vibrated  through  him  with  an  exquisite  delight.  lie 
realized  that  all  his  fight  against  her  had  been  in  vain. 
He  was  keenly  aware  that  this  was  a  momentous  hour 
in  his  life.  But  try  as  he  might,  ho  could  no  more 
identify  her  with  the  dangerous  enchantress  he  had 
feared,  who  would  lure  him  away  from  his  nobler  ideal 
of  life. 

"  Mr.  Burroughs,"  she  began,  with  a  voice  whoso 
rich  and  gentle  cadence  seemed  but  her  lovely  self 
translated  into  sound,  "  I  believe  we  once  had  a  dear 
friend  in  common." 

lie  had  avoided  until  this  moment  to  seek  con^ 
firmation  of  his  conjecture  regarding  Crampton ;  but, 
in  reality,  he  had  needed  no  confirmation.  He  had 
known  all  along  that  there  were  not  two  women  in 
Italy  to  whom  his  friend's  rapturous  description  could 
apply.  The  world  was  too  small  to  hold  many  such 
women.  And  yet  it  gave  him  a  shock  to  hear  her  re 
fer  so  simply  and  with  no  sense  of  guilty  responsibil 
ity  to  one  who  (as  she  surely  knew)  had  taken  his  life 
for  her  sake. 

ttYou  refer  to  George  Crampton?  Yes,  we  were 
very  good  friends,"  he  answered,  taking  pains  to  pre 
serve  the  light  conversational  tone.  "  We  were  chums 
at  college,  and  had  many  tastes  in  common." 

A  vague  solemnity  stole  into  her  face  as  she  lifted 


210       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

her  eyes  to  his  and  said :  "  I  have  missed  him  much 
since  he  died.  He  spoke  so  often  of  you.  You  were 
quite  a  hero  to  him.  I  believe,  even,  he  read  me  some 
of  your  letters." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  in  doubt  as  to  whether  he  did 
or  not,'*  Julian  remarked,  smiling  gravely. 

"  No,  I  am  not  in  doubt.  I  remember  quite  dis 
tinctly.  I  remember  you  assumed  an  affectionate, 
elder-brotherly  tone  toward  him  which  I  liked  very 
much.  It  was  just  what  he  needed.  For  you  know, 
with  all  his  fine  qualities,  ho  lacked  repose ;  he  lacked 
judgment  and  discretion." 

They  were  walking  down  the  spacious*  hall  as 
they  spoke,  glancing  cursorily  at  its  faded  splendors. 
Grantley  and  Talbot  had  fallen  behind  and  were  en 
gaged  in  an  archaeological  discussion,  in  which  the 
clergyman  obviously  took  a  livelier  interest  than  the 
painter.  It  was  only  with  difficulty  that  the  latter 
could  collect  himself  sufficiently  to  give  intelligent  re 
plies  ;  for  the  tragic  fact  that,  in  spite  of  his  ungener 
ous  behavior  (for  which  he  now  despised  himself), 
Burroughs  and  Constance  Douglas  had  made  each 
other's  acquaintance  stared  him  in  the  face  and  made 
him  grind  his  teeth  with  mortification.  He  was  dimly 
conscious  of  having  made  an  ass  of  himself ;  and  he 
held  Burroughs  responsible  for  all  the  lamentable  bulls 
lie  had  made  in  his  intercourse  with  Miss  Douglas. 
For  if  it  had  not  been  for  Burroughs,  he  might  have 
taken  hia  time  and  behaved  rationally,  instead  of  spoil 
ing  the  whole  affair  by  an  idiotic  precipitancy.  While 
pretending  to  listen  to  Grantley,  he  was  in  reality 
straining  his  ears  to  hear  what  Constance  was  say 
ing  ;  and  the  cordiality  of  her  voice,  with  all  its  sweet, 


"WHO  CAN  CONTEND  WITH  THE  GODSt"    217 

musical  intonations,  filled  him  with  exquisite  torture. 
They  were  making  alarming  progress  in  each  other's 
favor,  these  two  predestined  lovers  whom  he  had 
striven  so  earnestly  to  keep  apart.  For  to  Talbot's 
morbid  fancy  all  the  rest  followed  as  a  matter  of 
course,  now  that  the  only  effective  barrier  which  sepa 
rated  them  had  been  broken  down.  He  saw  them 
pause  before  a  large  brown  canvas,  in  which  some  ro 
bust  nymphs  with  badly  cracked  faces  were  disporting 
themselves  rather  immodestly,  and  ho  drew  the  infer 
ence  from  the  vague,  unseeing  way  in  which  they 
glanced  at  the  picture  that  they  were  merely  seek 
ing  a  pretext  for  lingering  in  each  other's  company. 
Grantley,  who  plainly  sympathized  with  this  decep 
tive  manoeuvre,  displayed  suddenly  an  interest  in  the 
frescoed  ceiling,  and  compelled  Talbot  to  turn  his 
aching  eyes  toward  the  Olympian  hierarchy  who  sat  in 
unblushing  nudity  listening  to  the  strains  of  Apollo 
and  the  nine  Muses. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  Rome,  Mr.  Bur 
roughs  ?"  asked  Constance ;  and  it  seemed  to  Talbot's 
suspicious  fancy  that  there  was  a  pointed  significance 
in  the  way  she  uttered  the  simple  query. 

44  Three  months,"  answered  Julian. 

It  was  obvious  that  he  had  been  in  no  haste  to 
make  her  acquaintance.  If  he  had  known  what  a  long 
train  of  humiliating  reflections  there  lay  behind  her 
question,  he  would  have  pitied  her.  But  he  saw  nothing 
but  a  serene  and  stately  woman,  with  a  certain  proud 
glow  in  her  face  and  a  spark  of  resentment  in  her  eyes 
which  was  extinguished  before  it  was  fairly  kindled. 
He  never  dreamed  that  his  late  fantastic  friend  had, 
with  perverse  humility,  made  a  hero  of  him  to  Con- 


218       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE, 

stance,  and  exorcised  his  poetic  fancy  in  endowing  him 
with  a  variety  of  noble  characteristics.  And  far  less 
was  he  from  conjecturing  that,  from  the  moment  he 
arrived  in  Rome,  he  had  been  an  object  of  intense 
interest  to  her,  and  had  daily  wounded  her  pride  by 
making  no  effort  to  approach  her. 

"  You  do  not  do  in  Rome  as  the  Romans  do,"  she 
observed,  quietly,  in  response  to  his  admission. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  if  I  have  unknowingly  outraged 
public  sentiment." 

"  No,  it  is  a  private  sentiment  you  have  outraged," 
she  said,  looking  up  with  a  smile  which  had  a  touch 
of  pathos ;  "  you  know,  the  Romans  have  spoiled  mo ; 
and  the  barbarians  as  well.  They  have  conspired  to 
make  mo  believe  that  I  am  a  person  of  consequence. 
I  am  like  a  petted  child  which  does  not  like  to  be 
ignored." 

He  may  have  been  preternaturally  obtuse,  but  even 
now  ho  caught  no  glimpse  of  the  woundod  dignity 
which  prompted  this  playful  complaint.  Ho  was  so 
absorbed  in  keeping  his  own  tumultuous  sentiinonta 
within  bounds  that  he  had  no  attention  to  spare  for 
hers ;  and,  as  is  apt  to  be  the  case  under  such  circum 
stances,  ho  went  to  the  opposite  extreme,  appearing  a 
trifle  stiff  and  unresponsive.  They  were  standing  now 
before  the  great  folding  doors,  which  Talbot  mado 
haste  to  open,  in  the  hope  of  terminating  the  inter 
view.  Footsteps  and  voices  were  heard  above  and 
below,  careering  with  sepulchral  resonance  through 
the  vast  empty  halls. 

"I  shall  bo  happy  to  see  you,  Mr.  Burroughs,  if 
youll  honor  me  with  a  call,"  said  Constance,  cordially, 
under  the  shelter  of  the  noise.  "  To  be  frank,  there 


"WHO  CAN  CONTEND  WITH  THE  GODS!"    219 

is  a  little  business  matter,  too,  which  I  should  like  to 
discuss  with  you,  relating  to  the  legacy  which  Mr. 
Crampton  left  me.  I  should  prefer  not  to  accept  it." 

"  I  shall  be  at  your  service,"  he  answered,  as  he 
lifted  his  hat,  bowed,  and  withdrew. 

lie  had  hardly  had  time  to  join  Grantley  before 
Talbot,  with  amusing  alacrity,  started  forward  to  take 
his  place. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  endure  that  solemn  prig," 
he  exclaimed,  with  heedless  irritation. 

"  He  does  not  impress  me  either  as  solemn  or  as  a 
prig,"  retorted  Constance,  with  mild  rebuke. 

A  quick  look  of  apprehension  flitted  across  Talbot's 
features. 

"  I  knew  it,  I  knew  it ! "  he  sighed,  recklessly. 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  gaze  of 
lofty  amazement  at  his  presumption. 

44  Oh,  nothing." 

They  moved  through  the  corridor  toward  the  great 
outside  portone  as  they  spoke,  and  met  Sir  Percy,  Herr 
Montrovius,  and  Mrs.  Pearl  Shinn  descending  with 
loud-voiced  speech  and  laughter  from  the  floor  above. 
Count  de  Saint-Keault  was  acting  as  escort  to  the 
archaeological  Miss  Bush,  who  was  got  up  like  a  pre- 
Raphaelite  saint,  and  turned  her  spiritual  face  tip 
to  him  with  an  air  which  was  quite  devotional.  The 
count,  on  the  other  hand,  walked  superbly  erect,  and 
did  not  bend  over  her  with  that  air  of  gallant  solici 
tude  which  he  always  exhibited  toward  Constance. 
The  moment  the  latter  came  into  view  he  excused 
himself  from  Miss  Bush,  who  blushed  excitedly,  as  he 
made  her  his  grand  obeisance ;  but  she  could  not  help 
remarking  the  striking  change  in  his  manner  as  he 


220       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

approached  Miss  Douglas,  and  drawing  her  inferences 
accordingly.  Democratic  though  Bho  was  (or  imagined 
thut  she  was),  Hho  scarcely  regarded  her  small  and  vi 
vacious  countryman  Talbot,  who  reluctantly  joined 
her,  as  a  substitute  for  so  magnificent  a  personage  as 
the  Count  do  Saint-Reault. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,"  exclaimed  the  count,  with  a 
delightful  sense  of  relief,  in  his  native  tongue,  "  I  have 
been  hungering  and  thirsting  for  your  presence,  like  a 
traveler  in  the  desert." 

"  M.  lo  Comte,"  answered  Constance,  "  that  means 
in  English,  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

44  No,  mademoiselle,  it  means  more.  It  means  I 
am  enchanted — I  am  enraptured  to  see  you.  I  can  see 
and  I  care  to  see  nothing  but  you." 

44  That  is  very  delightful,  count,  that  I  am  so  essen 
tial  to  your  well-being.  But  perhaps  you  will  pardon 
mo  if  I  do  not  entirely  reciprocate  your  sentiments. 
I  luwo  ulao  an  ambition  to  explore  this  charming  old 
villa,  and,  if  you  will  join  me,  we  will  take  a  walk  in 
the  garden." 

"  You  make  me  very  happy,  mademoiselle." 

44  You  are  extremely  amiable,  count." 

This  was  the  stylo  of  conversation  which  had  been 
habitual  between  these  two  during  the  year  of  their 
acquaintance.  They  talked  lightly,  skimming  over 
the  surface  of  things,  and  never  touching  upon  deeper 
topics.  It  was  quite  improper,  according  to  the  count's 
creed,  to  talk  seriously  with  women.  He  always  paid 
Constance  the  most  extravagant  compliments,  and  she, 
strange  to  say,  did  not  resent  them.  The  man  was 
such  an  embodiment  of  good  breeding — so  distinctly 
the  result  of  a  high  civilization,  and  one  wholly  diHer- 


A  DfiJEflNER  1  LA  FOURCHETTE.         221 

ent  from  tho  one  from  which  she  had  sprung — that 
she  found  herself  admiring  when  she  might  have  been 
expected  to  criticise.  In  the  first  place,  his  wholly 
chivalrous  attitude  toward  her  sex  pleased  her,  and,  in 
the  second  place,  she  was  not  above  being  impressed 
by  his  rank  and  the  mysteriousness  of  the  diplomatic 
mission  with  which  he  was  confidently  credited.  lie 
had  the  courage  to  remain  faithful  to  the  ancicn  re 
gime,  which  in  those  days  was  identified  with  the  name 
of  the  Count  de  Chambord,  and  to  forego  all  chances 
of  preferment  in  the  army  rather  than  ingratiate  him- 
pclf  with  the  authorities  of  the  republic.  It  was  un 
derstood  that  his  labors  in  Rome,  of  whatever  nature 
they  were,  were  in  tho  interest  of  the  Bourbon  cause. 
There  was  in  all  this  something  which  appealed  to  her 
sense  of  romance  and  invested  the  count  with  a  kind 
of  poetic  halo.  She  was  by  no  means  wildly  in  love 
with  him — chiefly,  she  reasoned,  because  it  was  not  in 
her  nature  to  be  wildly  anything.  Her  temperament 
and  character  lay  along  the  middle  octaves,  in  which 
there  was  a  wealth  of  sweet  and  tranquil  melody,  but 
did  not  range  high  into  the  treble  or  deep  into  the 
base.  That  was,  at  all  events,  the  analysis  of  those 
who  knew  her  best 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  DEJEUNER  A   LA  FOUBCHETTE. 

THE  gardens  of  the  Villa  Aldobrandini  are  large 
enough  to  afford  privacy  for  an  army  of  lovers.  Tal- 
bot  walked  about  as  in  a  dream  (though  by  no  means 


222       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

a  happy  one)  and  imagined  that  he  had  strolled  una 
wares  into  a  chapter  of  Boccaccio's  "  Decameron,"  Only 
he  had,  somehow,  got  himself  entangled  with  the  wrong 
lady  and  was  powerless  to  rectify  the  mistake.    Miss 
Bush  found  him  extremely  unresponsive  to  her  fine 
speeches  and  pre-Raphaelite  attitudes,  and  her  hushed 
and  gentle  voice  wasted  itself  in  unappreciated  efforts. 
It  is  a  fact  that  a  fine  talker  never  likes  to  meet  an- 
other  of  his  own  species,  which  circumstance  may 
account  for  the  young  man's  suppressed  irritability 
and  the  mute  maledictions  which  he  hurled  against 
the  smiling  sky.    It  cheapened  horribly  his  outburst 
t  about  the  Eenaissance  ecclesiastics  to  think  that  this 
thin,  ridiculous  girl  had  hit  upon  something  that 
sounded  quite  similar.    He  found  her  affected,  and 
she  found  him  disagreeable;  but  they  clung  to  each 
other  for  about  half  an  hour,  exploring  arbors  whose 
delightful  privacy  invited  quite  different  sentiments, 
losing  themselves  in  luxuriant  jungles  of  vines  and 
shrubbery,  and  viewing  from  the  broad  terraces  the 
glorious  panorama  of  the  Sabine  Mountains  bathed  in 
golden  light,  the  dark  and  silent  Campagna,  and  in 
the  distance  the  flashing  domes  of  the  Eternal  City. 
Miss  Bush  had  just  delivered  a  neat  little  rhapsody  on 
the  mellow  richness  of  the  Italian  sunlight,  and  had 
succeeded  in  exasperating  her  companion  until  he  felt 
as  if  he  could  strangle  her,  when,  to  their  unutterable 
astonishment,  they  surprised.  Sir  Percy  and  Miss  Saun- 
ders  in  an  interesting  tete-ci-tete.     The  baronet  was 
seated  on  the  edge  of  a  cracked  marble  basin,  in  the 
middle  of  which  a  moss-grown  Triton  vainly  inflated 
his  cheeks,  and  Delia,  who  had  apparently  been  sit 
ting  at  his  side,  had  risen,  and  was  standing  in  front 


A   DfiJEftNER  A  LA  FOURCHETTR         223 

of  him  with  an  expression  on  her  face  which  seemed  a 
mixture  of  annoyance  and  embarrassment.  She  was 
frankly  delighted  at  the  sight  of  Talbot  and  Miss  Bush, 
and  started  toward  them  with  an  eagerness  which  took 
small  account  of  etiquette. 

44  Now,  Georgie,"  she  cried,  with  a  sudden  relaxa 
tion  of  her  seriousness,  "  this  will  never  do.  What  do 
you  mean  by  going  back  on  me  in  this  style  ?  And 
me  looking  for  you  high  and  low  while  you  go  off  flirt 
ing  with  another  girl !  " 

If  she  could  have  known  how  distasteful  this  style 
of  banter  was  to  him,  how  in  the  present  moment  he 
positively  writhed  under  it,  she  would  perhaps  have 
had  pity  on  him.  But  it  was  not  her  habit  to  trouble 
herself  about  the  sentiments  of  her  victims. 

"  I  always  knew  you  were  a  heartless  flirt,  Georgie," 
she  went  on,  mercilessly,  "  and  of  course  I  ought  to 
have  expected  that  you  would  trifle  with  my  affections. 
But  this  poor,  unguarded  creature  here— I  couldn't 
defend  it  before  my  own  conscience  if  I  didn't  warn 
"her  and  let  her  know  what  sort  of  man  you  are." 

Miss  Delia  pronounced  this  serious  indictment 
with  a  smiling  face  and  a  light  and  breezy  manner 
which  puzzled  Miss  Bush  and  Sir  Percy  exceedingly. 
They  were  both  too  unacquainted  with  our  Western 
humor  to  understand  that  this  was  meant  as  badinage^ 
and  had  no  serious  import  whatever.  The  situation 
was  getting  absolutely  unbearable,  when  Miss  Bush 
unexpectedly  recovered  her  dignity,  and  said,  with  a 
constrained  laugh  : 

44  Oh,  thank  you  very  much,  Miss  Saunders,  but 
your  warning,  I  assure  you,  is  quite  superfluous." 

44  Why,  Talbot,"  observed  Sir  Percy,  also  with  an 


224       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

air  of  constraint,  and  wiping  his  forehead  energetically, 
"  who  would  have  thought — aw — who  would  have 
fancied — don't  you  know — that  you  were  such  a  gay 
Lothario?" 

"Good  gracious,  Mr.  Percy!"  Delia  burst  out, 
with  a  laugh  which  rang  with  sharp  reverberation 
against  the  walls  of  the  villa,  "why,  you  English 
people,  you  are  awfully  funny." 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Sir  Percy,  with  a  visible  effort  to 
appear  at  his  ease, "  that  is  exactly — aw — that  is — don't 
you  know  ? — what  we  think  of  you.  You  are,  as  you 
might  say,  quite  too  awfully  funny." 

"  And  you  think  I  am  serious  in  hauling  Talbot 
over  the  coals  for  jilting  me?  " 

"  Well,  really,  you  know — aw — it  is  hard  to  know 
when  Americans  are  serious  and  when  they  are  not. 
They  do  things,  you  know,  that  we  would  never  think 
of  doing." 

Sir  Percy  appealed  confidently  to  Miss  Bush  for 
confirmation  of  this  judgment,  quite  forgetting  that 
she  was  herself  an  American,  though  a  Europeanizcd 
one. 

"I  have  been  so  long  away  from  America,  you 
know,"  she  responded,  with  embarrassment ;  "  so  I 
really  couldn't  tell." 

"On  general  principles,"  affirmed  Delia,  with  a 
fresh  burst  of  hilarity,  "  you  may  take  it  for  granted 
that  we  are  never  serious.  A  real  American — that  is, 
I  mean,  a  "Western  American — would  joke  at  his 
mother-in-law's  funeral." 

"  Now,  really,  you  don't  say  so ! "  exclaimed  Sir 
Percy,  guilelessly — at  which  Delia  was  so  overcome 
with  laughter  that  she  came  within  an  ace  of  seating 


A  D&JEONER  A  LA  FOURCHETTE.         225 

herself  in  his  lap.  Whether  ho  objected  to  such 
familiarity  or  became  suddenly  conscious  of  his  duties 
to  the  rest  of  the  company,  is  difficult  to  conjecture ; 
but  he  arose  with  some  abruptness,  shook  the  legs  of 
his  trousers,  and  remarked : 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  ladies ;  it  is  time  for  me  to 
stir  up  the  servants,  as — aw — they  are  capable  of  for 
getting  that  luncheon  is  to  bo  served  at  one." 

He  lifted  his  hat,  and  descended  the  long  flight  of 
slippery  green  stairs,  along  the  artificial  waterfall. 

"I  suppose,"  observed  Talbot,  glancing  at  Miss 
Bush,  "  that  it  is  in  order  for  us  to  follow.  But  take 
care ;  the  stairs  are  very  slippery.  You  had  better 
take  my  arm." 

His  animosity  to  Delia  had  changed  his  feeling 
for  Miss  Bush  to  one  of  comparative  cordiality.  lie 
now  found  her  clear-cut,  saintly  face,  set  in  its  frame 
of  pale-golden  hair,  quite  pictorially  effective.  She 
seemed  herself  conscious  of  a  certain  Old-English 
quaintness  in  her  wistful  gaze  and  willowy  slender- 
ness  ;  for  she  dressed  like  one  of  Rossetti's  or  Burne- 
Jones's  allegorical  maidens  who  sit  under  apple-trees, 
or  walk  symbolically  up  or  down  stairs,  or  merely 
stand  in  "  stained-glass  attitudes,"  against  a  golden 
background. 

At  one  o'clock  a  melodious  bugle-call  summoned 
the  company  to  luncheon  in  the  great  dining-hall  of 
the  villa.  Sir  Percy  had  discovered  that  there  was  a 
mediaeval  precedent  for  this  picturesque  performance ; 
but,  whether  there  was  or  not,  it  imparted  a  flavor  of 
old-time  romance  to  the  feast  which  was  relished  by 
all.  It  had  been  determined  for  sanitary  reasons  to 
serve  the  luncheon  in-doors,  as  the  earliness  of  the 
15 


226       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

season  made  &fete  champetre  a  little  hazardous.  Pon 
derous  oaken  chairs,  superbly  carved,  but  of  defective 
.upholstery,  had  been  gathered  together  from  all  the 
rooms  of  the  villa,  and  a  miscellaneous  assortment  of 
settees,  stands,  tete-a-ttteS)  and  tables,  some  straight- 
legged  and  classical,  some  spindle-legged  and  frivolous 
a  la  Pompadour,  gave  one,  at  first  sight,  the  impression 
that  there  was  going  to  be  an  auction  of  furniture. 
To  remove  the  sepulchral  chill  which  is  apt  to  strike 
one  on  entering  the  vast,  resonant  apartments  of  an 
Italian  villa.  Sir  Percy  had  ordered  a  fire  of  logs  to  bo 
laid  on  the  long-unused  hearth;  and  the  flames,  as 
they  leaped  up  the  wide-throated  chimney,  flashed  and 
danced  in  the  polished  surfaces  of  precious  glass  and 
silver.  Great  banks  of  white,  red,  and  yellow  roses  in 
dishes  of  Venetian  glass  adorned  the  table,  and  filled 
the  room  with  a  delicate  fragrance.  Cardinal  Aldo- 
brandini's  ghost,  if  it  were  permitted  to  revisit  the 
glimpses  of  the  moon,  would  have  wondered  what  the 
world  was  coming  to. 

As  it  was  to  be  a  dejeilner  a  la  fourcliette^  consist 
ing  of  cold  dishes,  the  gentlemen  made  haste  to  capt 
ure  tables  and  chairs,  and  to  dispose  themselves  in 
congenial  groups  with  the  ladies  whom  policy  or  in 
clination  recommended  to  their  attention.  Miss  Doug 
las  had  found  her  place  in  a  rococo  tcte-a-tete  with 
tarnished  gilding,  and  upholstered  in  ancient  embroid- 
dered  brocade ;  and  facing  her,  on  the  other  side,  sat 
Count  do  Saint- Reault,  bending  forward  in  an  attitude 
of  respectful  expectancy,  and  receiving  every  word  that 
she  uttered  as  if  it  were  a  marvel  of  wisdom  and  brill 
iancy.  If  he  had  been  less  robust  and  masculine,  this 
seeming  humility  in  the  presence  of  a  beautiful  woman 


A  DfiJEflNER  A   LA  FOURCDETTE.         227 

would  not  havo  recommended  him  to  Miss  Constance's 
favor ;  but  in  ono  BO  well-born  and  dignified  it  ap 
peared  to  her  almost  touching.  She  had  never  in  her 
life  received  homage  that  seemed  so  delicate,  so  unob 
trusive,  and  so  thoroughly  acceptable. 

There  was  a  small  army  of  waiters,  and  the  gentle 
men  were  not  required  to  make  foraging  expeditions 
in  search  of  oysters  or  lobster-salad  or  ice  cream. 
Every  want  was  promptly  discovered  by  the  vigilant 
servitors,  and  gratified  before  it  was  uttered.  It  was 
Sir  Percy's  pride  that  his  servants  were  better  trained 
than  any  in  England.  And  ho  carried  his  entire 
household  with  him  wherever  ho  went,  ostensibly  for 
the  reason  that  ho  could  not  put  up  with  the  impu 
dence  and  inefficiency  of  foreign  servants. 

The  champagne-corks  gave  a  resonance  like  pistol- 
shots  under  the  wide  ceiling,  and  even  innocent  sherry- 
bottles  seemed  determined  to  rival  them  in  noise. 
There  was  a  lively  clinking  of  glasses,  animated  con 
versation,  accented  by  occasional  little  screams  of 
laughter,  and  a  subdued  clatter  of  knives  and  forks 
through  the  spacious  refectory.  All  was  so  harmoni 
ous,  so  civilized.  And  yet  there  was  one  jarring  note ; 
but  there  was  no  ono  who  discovered  it  except  Con 
stance.  While  she  sat  exchanging  winged  platitudes 
with  the  count,  uttered  with  a  charming  subdued  vi 
vacity,  she  was  conscious  of  a  pair  of  eyes  resting  upon 
her  with  earnest  intentness.  She  did  not  know  at  first 
to  whom  this  gaze  belonged,  but  a  vague  uneasiness 
took  possession  of  her;  she  felt  as  if  some  strange 
cobwebby  substance  were  closing  about  her,  and  finally 
she  felt  compelled  to  turn  around. 

"Might  I  trouble  you  to  face   the  other  way, 


223       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

count?"  she  said;   "the  light  troubles   me   a  lit 
tle." 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  I  am  entirely  at  your  service," 
responded  the  Frenchman,  rising  and  wheeling  the 
tete-a-tete  about ;  "  though  you  will  pardon  me  for  say 
ing  that  you  are  not  one  of  those  ladies  who  need  fear 
the  light." 

"  Ah,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  but  I  court  it  no  longer. 
To  a  complexion  past  twenty,  the  sunlight  is  always 
trying." 

"  Yours,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  make  so  personal 
a  remark,  could  triumphantly  challenge  the  sun,  the 
moon,  and  all  the  stars  together." 

It  would  have  been  impossible  to  Constance  to  ac 
count  for  the  fact  that  this  airy  gallantry,  which  she 
had  always  received  and  found  to  be  quite  in  order, 
suddenly  jarred  on  her,    It  seemed  just  a  trifle  stale 
and  artificial.    The  thought  of  Julian  Burroughs  had 
not  left  her  for  an  instant  since  she  had  parted  with 
him  in  the  sala.    To  think  that  he  had  been  three 
months  in  Rome,  and  purposely  refrained  from  mak 
ing  her  acquaintance !    For  that  it  was  an  accident 
was  an  idea  which  no  rational  creature  could  enter 
tain.     Of  course,  George  Crampton,  who  was  always 
talking  about  Burroughs  to  her,  must  also  have  written 
about  her  to  Burroughs.    Was  it  resentment,  perhaps, 
in  his  friend's  behalf  which  had  made  him  fight  shy 
of  her?     Did  he  blame  her  for  Crampton's  death? 
But  surely  she  could  not  marry  every  man  who  took  it 
,  into  JUH  ]\t\tu\  to  full  in  lovo  with  hrr !     Sho  had  boon 
i  fond  of  Gcorgo  Crumpton ;  she  had  treated  him  as  a 
good  friend;  but  ho  had  been  as  remote  as  possible 
from  the  type  of  man  which  she  imagined  herself 


A  D&JEONER  1  LA  FOURCHETTE.         220 

capable  of  loving.  It  would  bo  quixotic  to  tho  last 
degree  to  hold  her  responsible  for  the  misfortune 
which  had  befallen  this  ill-balanced  and  eccentric  en 
thusiast. 

She  heard  the  count's  vivacious  discourse  in  her 
ears,  and  gave  the  replies  which  politeness  required ; 
but  a  note  of  alienism  in  tho  man  struck  her  for  tho 
first  time.  His  gestures,  his  voice,  his  needle-pointed 
mustache,  and,  above  all,  the  intonation  of  his  voice 
aroused  a  disdainful  feeling  in  her.  The  few  conven 
tional  remarks  she  had  exchanged  with  Burroughs 
had  sufficed  to  establish  a  kind  of  intangible  under 
standing  between  them,  and  she  had  a  sense  of  near 
ness  to  him,  which,  by  a  complication  of  feelings,  drove 
the  count  into  the  distance.  A  conviction  began  to 
assert  itself  that  there  was  a  far  deeper  motive  than 
either  indifference  or  resentment  for  Burroughs's 
strange  behavior.  Luminous  divinations  shot  through 
her  mind,  and  she  became  possessed  with  a  desire  to 
find  out  how  far  her  conjectures  were  correct 

"  Oh,  M.  le  Comte,"  she  said,  with  all  her  insinu 
ating  grace,  "  you'll  pardon  me,  if  I  impose  upon  your 
kindness,  but  I  have  a  bad  conscience  in  regard  to 
that  American  gentleman  who  stands  there  under  the 
Flora.  I  fear  I  was  rude  to  him  in  dismissing  him  so 
abruptly.  Perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to  bring 
him  up  to  me,  so  that  I  may  make  amends  for  my  de 
linquencies." 

The  count,  as  one  who  cheerfully  gives  out  of  his 
abundance,  rose  with  alacrity  and  hastened  toward 
Burroughs.  He  felt  himself  so  secure  in  Constance's 
favor  that  he  could  afford  to  be  generous  and  give  a 
hungry  beggar  a  chance  to  pick  up  a  few  crumbs  from 


230       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

his  table.  It  was  interesting  to  observe  the  bow  of 
extreme  courtesy  with  which  he  introduced  himself  to 
the  American  and  delivered  in  defective  English  his 
message. 

"  Mademoiselle  Dooglaas,"  he  said,  with  his  well- 
bred,  conventional  smile,  "she  desi-are  ze  plaisir  of 
Monsieur  Burroughs  companee  for  one  moment.  She 
Bond  mo  to  profaro  zo  request  that  Monsieur  Burroughs 
confare  upon  her  ze  conversation  of  one  moment." 

A  look  of  surprise  flashed  into  Julian's  eyes  as  he 
listened  to  the  Frenchman's  words,  and  a  deeper 
gravity  settled  upon  his  features.  Was  it  possible  that 
M.  do  Saint- lleault  did  not  recognize  him  or  purposely 
refrained  from  recognizing  him?  It  filled  him  with 
wrath  to  have  this  handsome  rout  hover  about  hor,  ad 
dress  hor,  and  bring  messages  from  her  to  him.  And  yet 
the  purport  of  the  message  was  of  greater  importance 
than  tho  messenger.  Exultation  and  fear  wrestled  in 
his  heart.  Ho  returned  tho  count's  bow  a  trifle  stiflly, 
muttorcd  something, about  "extreme  honor  and  pleas 
ure,"  and  accompanied  him  to  the  tcte-a-tcte,  where 
Constance  was  sitting. 

"  Mr.  Burroughs,"  she  began,  as  tho  count  amiably 
withdrew,  "  I  want  to  ask  you  a  very  feminine  ques 
tion  ;  and  if  you  think  it  ia  indiscreet,  you  needn't 
answer  it.  Did  George  Crampton  ever  mention  me  to 
you  in  his  letters  ?  " 

Tho  question  was  so  calmly  uttered,  and  with  such 
gentleness,  that  it  appeared  neither  indiscreet  nor  un- 
digniUcd.  It  WUH,  therefore,  with  some  misgiving  that 
Julian  replied,  us  a  spirit  of  caution  impelled  him  to  do : 

"  As  far  as  I  remember,  ho  never  mentioned  your 
name." 


A  D&JEONER  A  LA  FOURCHETTE.         231 

Ho  had  no  idea  of  how  cruelly  he  was  again 
wounding  her  self-esteem.  Ho  noted  a  faint  under 
tone  of  agitation  in  her  placid  face — a  slightly  height 
ened  color,  and  an  anxious  dilation  of  the  eyes.  A 
dim  suspicion  of  the  real  bearing  of  the  question  flitted 
through  his  brain,  but  he  was  afraid  of  trusting  so 
flattering  an  inference. 

"  You  may  think  it  odd,"  she  continued,  with  a 
troubled  smile,  "  that  I  should  care  to  know.  But  I 
took  it  for  granted*  that  your  friend  confided  in  you 
as  ho  did  in  me." 

It  seemed  impossible  to  frame  a  reply  so  as  to 
avoid  mendacity  in  this  case;  and  it  was  a  genuine 
relief  to  Burroughs  when  two  liveried  waiters  pre 
sented  themselves  with  trays  preceded  by  savory  odors. 
He  displayed  all  the  gallantry  at  his  command ;  pro 
cured  a  small  onyx-topped  table  just  largo  enough  to 
hold  their  plates  and  glasses,  and  supplied  the  former 
with  oysters  and  salad  and  cold  partridge.  The  lunch 
was  very  welcome,  and  both  were  content  to  hold  agi 
tating  subjects  in  abeyance  while  they  satisfied  the 
cravings  of  hunger.  They  had  both  a  sense  of  having 
known  each  other  for  a  long  time ;  of  having  resumed 
an  old  and  delightful  acquaintance  which  had  suffered 
a  mysterious  interruption.  A  current  of  exquisite 
well-being  diffused  itself  through  them,  and  a  mutual 
confidence  and  understanding  which  were  in  ad 
vance  of  the  actual  stage  of  their  acquaintance.  They 
talked  frankly  and  naturally  of  their  late  friend,  and 
she  could  even  smile  at  his  absurdities ;  and  her  eyes 
were  sweet  and  shining  as  she  raised  them  to  his, 
trustfully  appealing  for  sympathy.  And  BO  it  came  to 
pass  that  his  conscience  became  vaguely  troubled  at 


J232       THE  UGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

the  inference  which  he  had  allowed  her  to  draw  in  re 
gard  to  Crampton,  and  ho  spoke  now  with  a  smiling 
ease,  in  which  there  was  no  longer  a  shadow  of  con 
straint. 

"  I  may  as  well  confess,"  he  said,  his  eyes  resting 
admiringly  on  her  lovely  face,  "  that  in  telling  you  the 
literal  truth  a  moment  ago,  I  left  you  under  a  false 
impression.  Crampton's  letters  to  me  were  full  of 
you — but  ho  novor  referred  to  you  by  name." 

"How  very  odd,"  she  murmured.  "  Your  name 
was  constantly  on  his  lips.  Ho  had  taken  a  strange 
fancy — " 

She  stopped  suddenly  and  laughed. 

"No,"  she  ejaculated,  blushing,  "I  will  not  tell 
you  that — at  least  not  yet." 

She  had  quite  forgotten  the  count,  of  whom  she 
had  asked  the  privilege  to  make  amends  to  Burroughs. 
But  she  now  met  his  gaze  riveted  upon  her  with  a  puz 
zled  frown,  as  if  he  suspected  himself  of  laboring  un 
der  a  delusion.  She  was  making  amends  with  a  venge 
ance,  he  no  doubt  reasoned.  He  accepted  her  faint 
response  to  his  questioning  glance  as  a  summons,  and 
made  his  way,  plate  in  hand,  among  the  gayly  chatter 
ing  groups,  until  he  paused  in  front  of  her.  Bur 
roughs,  comprehending  the  situation,  rose  promptly. 

44 1  fear  I  have  been  abusing  your  good-nature, 
count,"  he  said. 

The  count  bowed  with  a  slight  relaxation  in  his 
scowl,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  No,  it  is  I  who  am  the  delinquent,"  interposed 
Constance. 

"  Yes,  in  making  me  forget  time  and  place  and 
my  obligations  to  the  count,"  retorted  Burroughs. 


A  DfcJEtiNER  A  LA  FOURCHETTE.         233 

u  I  go  avay,  mademoiselle,  eef  you  profare  ze  com- 
panee  of  zees  monsieur,"  observed  Saint-R6ault,  with 
boyish  ill-temper. 

"  Oh,  count,  how  can  you  be  so  foolish?"  she  cried, 
with  a  bewitching  glance  at  his  flushed  and  lowering 
face. 

She  felt  in  good  humor  with  all  the  world  and 
could  not  bring  herself  to  believe  in  his  resentment. 

"  You  deserve  to  bo  scolded,"  she  continued,  gayly, 
as  soon  as  Burroughs  was  beyond  ear-shot,  u  for  mak 
ing  such  ado  about  nothing." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  ho  answered,  in  French,  the  hot 
blood  again  flaring  into  his  cheeks,  "  I  am  not  accus 
tomed  to  being  trifled  with.  If  I  annoy  you,  you  may 
tell  me  so,  and  I  shall  trouble  you  no  more." 

His  transparent,  uncontrolled  jealousy  displeased 
her,  and  made  her  restive.  It  seemed  juvenile  and 
undignified.  It  betrayed  a  mental  alienism  which  ap 
peared  almost  odious.  She  could  not  help  contrasting 
him  with  Burroughs  who,  though  he  was  less  impos 
ing  physically,  had  an  air  of  easy  self-mastery,  and 
Anglo-Saxon  massiveness  which  was  proof  against 
petty  irritability.  For  all  that,  as  she  had  perhaps 
given  him  cause  for  displeasure,  she  was  bound  to  con 
ciliate  him. 

"  No,"  she  said,  playfully,  refusing  to  recognize  his 
Rolemnity,  "  you  shall  not  escape  so  easily.  I  can  not 
dismiss  you  from  my  service  yet  In  the  first  place,  I 
want  a  glass  of  Latour  Blanche,  which  I  see  upon  the 
table,  and  secondly  I  want  you  to  enlighten  my  igno 
rance  in  regard  to  Lachrymae  Christi.  Is  it  a  Spanish 
or  an  Italian  wine  ?  " 

Ilia  face  lighted  up  instantly.    She  knew  that  he 


234:       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

prided  himself  on  his  connoisseurship  in  wines,  but 
she  was  not  prepared  for  so  complete  a  transforma 
tion. 

"Lachrymse  Christi,"  he  said,  without  suspecting 
her  ruse,  "  is  a  Neapolitan  wine,  and  grows  only  in  a 
certain  vigna  on  the  slope  of  Mount  Vesuvius." 

He  took  such  delight  in  offering  her  this  piece  of 
information  that  she  felt  a  little  twinge  of  conscience 
in  having  taken  advantage  of  his  ingenuousness. 
Wines  were  to  him  matters  of  tremendous  importance, 
which  he  was  capable  of  discussing  by  the  hour.  A 
certain  robust  acceptance-  of  things,  and  a  severely 
limited  perception  as  to  all  themes  that  could  not  be 
classed  as  things,  were  characteristic  both  of  his  race 
and  his  profession. 

"The  Lacrima  grape,"  he  went  on,  expanding 
with  agreeable  importance,  "will  grow  anywhere  on 
the  Mediterranean,  but  it  ripens  only  to  perfection  on 
Mount  Vesuvius.  Not  one  fiftieth  of  all  the  Lacrima 
wine  you  are  offered  in  the  trade  is  genuine." 

"  What  is  the  color  of  it  ?  "  asked  Constance,  with 
a  docile  and  admiring  air. 

"It  is  pink.  It  has  a  mildly  spicy  flavor — a  little 
like  Malvasier,  but  not  as  strong  as  Muscatelle.  But, 
pardon  me,  you  said  you  wanted  Latour  Blanche.  I'll 
be  back  in  a  moment." 

But  the  first  bottle  which  he  spied  proved  to  be 
empty,  and  before  ho  had  captured  a  second,  the  va 
cant  seat  at  Miss  Douglas's  side  had  found  a  new  oc 
cupant  As  it  happened,  Miss  Saunders,  who  had 
grown  tired  of  the  secretary  of  the  English  legation, 
had  risen  and  was  looking  about  for  a  more  congenial 
companion.  Meeting  Constance's  wandering  gaze  she 


A  DfcJECNER  A  LA  FOURCHETTE.         235 

steered  straight  toward  her  and  with  cheerful  uncere 
moniousness  sat  down. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  began,  with  a  look  of  undis 
guised  boredom,  "  why  those  fellows  with  one  eyeglass 
always  make  me  sleepy.  I  always  thonght  our  Ameri 
can  men  were  bad  enough  as  talkers,  but  the  for 
eigners  are  much  worse.  They  sit  all  the  while  and  » 
look  at  you  as  if  you  were  some  queer  bird  and  say 
*  aw '  and  *  aha '  and  *  yes,  exactly '  and  *  yes,  awfully,* 
and  never  give  you  a  chance  to  guess  what  they  are 
really  driving  at.  If  I  had  stayed  another  minute  with 
that  young  diplomatic  idiot,  I  should  have  got  up 
and  boxed  his  ears." 

"  You  would  have  made  a  sensation,"  observed 
Constance,  smiling. 

"  Well,  that's  my  luck  whatever  I  do,"  retorted 
Delia;  " I  guess  I  was  made  on  a  sensational  plan." 

The  count  here  returned  with  two  captured  waiters, 
one  carrying  a  tray  with  a  bottle  of  Latour  Blanche, 
the  ether  a  champagne  cooler. 

"  Roederer  or  Veuve  Cliquot  ? "  inquired  the  dis 
penser  of  the  champagne. 

"  Neither,"  answered  Constance ;  "  I'll  take  Sau- 
terne." 

"  I  don't  know  the  difference,"  exclaimed  Delia, 
with  a  jovial  glance  at  the  waiter,  when  the  question 
was  repeated  to  her. 

"  Sec  or  sweet  ?  "  explained  that  imperturbable  func 
tionary. 

"That's  all  Greek  to  me,  you  know,"  she  laughed, 
appealing  again  to  the  solemn  red-whiskered  Gany 
mede,  "  but  I  suppose  it's  safe  to  take  the  same  as  Miss 
Douglao." 


236       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

She  seized  her  glass  as  soon  as  it  was  filled,  nodded 
gayly  to  Constance  and  the  count,  and  was  about  to 
drink,  when  suddenly  a  thought  struck  her. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot ;  champagne  is  liquor,  isn't  it?" 

44  Yes,  but  zat  ees  not  champagne  in  your  glass," 
replied  the  count 

*4  Isn't  it  ?  Well,  it's  wine,  which  is  the  same 
thing." 

44  Why,  my  dear  mademoiselle ;  zat  is  not  so ;  zat 
is  not  ze  same  zing  at  all." 

44  Well,  it's  liquor  any  way.  I  signed  a  pledge  last 
year.  I  mustn't  drink." 

"What  kind  of  a  pledge  was  that? "asked  Con 
stance. 

44  A  temperance  pledge.  You  know  the  Woman's 
Suffrage  Association  in  our  State  was  interested  in  the 
prohibition  movement,  and  so  they  persuaded  me  to 
go  on  the  platform  and  lecture  on  prohibition.  I  had 
to  sign  the  pledge  first,  of  course,  which  was  a  very 
easy  thing  to  do,  as  I  had  never  been  addicted  to 
whisky.  But  I  never  thought  before  that  wine  was 
liquor.  Any  way,  I've  got  to  stand  by  the  pledge." 

M.  de  Saint-R6ault,  who  had  counted  upon  a  de 
lightful  reconciliation  with  Constance,  in  which  she  was 
to  acknowledge  her  wrong  and  he  to  bo  magnanimous, 
grew  a  little  restive  under  Delia's  loquacity,  and  by 
the  sullen  folds  of  his  face  began  to  betray  his  pique. 
Constance  being,  on  the  other  hand,  disinclined  for  a 
tete-a-tete^  showed  the  most  flattering  interest  in  Miss 
Saunders's  autobiography,  and  thereby  encouraged  her 
to  further  self -revelation. 

She  treated  herself  with  great  humor,  as  if  she 
were  another  person,  for  whose  doings  she  was  in  no 


A  DfiJEftNER  A  LA  FOURCHETTE.         237 

wise  responsible.  She  was  a  graduate  of  Oberlin,  it 
appeared — a  veritable  A.  B. — and  had  obtained  an 
honorary  A.  M.  She  had  been  engaged  half  a  dozen 
times  while  she  was  at  college,  and  thought  it  was  a 
useful  experience,  as  it  had  given  her  great  self-confi 
dence  and  a  healthy  contempt  for  men.  Her  novel 
and  amusing  expressions  and  her  reckless  unconven- 
tionality  impressed  Constance,  and  inclined  her  to 
the  opinion  that  at  the  bottom  of  Delia's  nature  there 
was  something  stanch  and  genuine,  but  that,  from  a 
spirit  of  rebellion,  she  took  pleasure  in  representing 
herself  in  an  unfavorable  light. 

The  sun-flushed  mist  that  hung  over  the  Campagna 
shone  with  a  deeper  gold,  and  the  tall  stone-pinea 
looked  blacker  against  the  radiant  west,  when  the 
heavy  doors  of  the  banqueting-hall  were  thrown  open, 
and  the  company  moved,  with  airy  chatter,  rustling  of 
skirts,  and  crackling  of  shirt-bosoms,  toward  the  upper 
terrace.  The  count,  with  the  elaborate  courtesy  of 
his  race,  conducted  both  ladies  out  into  the  open  air. 
There  Sir  Percy,  a  little  bit  flushed  with  wine,  was 
expatiating  upon  the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  and  was 
comparing  it  with  Hong-Kong,  Himalaya,  and  all  sorts 
of  outlandish  places.  He  addressed  himself  directly 
to  Delia,  who,  after  having  listened  for  a  while,  de 
clared  that  she  couldn't  agree  with  him. 

14  The  last  time  I  was  in  the  Himalayas,"  she  said, 
"  I  didn't  find  it  a  bit  like  this ;  and  as  for  Hong-Kong, 
there  were  so  many  heathen  Chinese  there  that  they 
spoiled  the  landscape  for  mo.  Now,  I  think,  if  this  re 
minds  me  of  anything,  it  is  the  plains  of  Benares  or 
the  steppes  of  Kamchatka.'' 

It  was  fortunate  for  her  that  Sir  Percy  did  not 


238       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE, 

perceive  that  she  was  making  sport  of  him ;  but  Con 
stance  understood  it,  and  marveled  at  her  audacity. 

It  is  very  hard  to  talk  interestingly  about  a  land 
scape,  even  if  it  be  ever  so  beautiful ;  and  there  was  a 
sense  of  relief  visible  on  the  part  of  both  ladies  and 
gentlemen  when  the  tribute  of  admiration  had  been 
paid,  and  it  argued  no  impropriety  to  relapse  into  per 
sonalities. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

DESCEXSUS  AVERNI. 

JULIAN  had  left  the  dining-hall  before  the  major 
ity  of  guests,  under  Sir  Percy's  guidance,  had  scattered 
on  the  terrace.  He  had  drunk  what  he  considered  a 
very  moderate  quantity  of  wine,  and  had  tried  to  tempt 
his  appetite  by  experimenting  with  various  dishes. 
But  a  mood  of  deep  despondency  had  come  over  him, 
alternating  with  a  wild  impulse  to  throw  all  consider 
ations  to  the  winds,  give  up  the  futile  struggle  for  a 
nobility  that  was  beyond  him,  and  regulate  his  life 
only  by  his  desires.  The  sight  of  the  count  in  his 
eager  attendance  upon  Constance  filled  him  not  with 
irritation,  but  with  a  passionate  wrath  which  glowed 
and  smoldered  within  him.  A  savage  disgust  with  the 
world  as  it  was  made,  and  an  utter  impatience  with 
the  future,  in  any  probable  aspect  that  it  might  as 
sume,  took  possession  of  him.  "With  all  her  adorable 
simplicity  and  gentleness,  Constance  seemed  so  remote 
from  him  that  his  infatuation  struck  him  as  full  of 
tragic  probabilities. 


DESCENSUS  AVERNT.  239 

IIo  strolled  away  under  the  sprouting  ilexes,  with 
their  tassels  of  bright  leaves,  amid  the  glossy  darkness 
of  last  year's  foliage.  The  air  was  full  of  vagrant 
odors,  which  were  wafted  toward  him  from  the  bloom- 
ing  shrubbery.  Here  and  there  a  clump  of  tall,  dry 
etalks,  with  brown,  shriveled  leaves,  stood  rustling  in 
the  wind,  while  others,  which  the  rain  had  overthrown, 
lay  calmly  decaying  into  the  soil.  A  riotous  growth 
of  vegetation,  with  big  leaves  and  long  shoots,  burst 
ing  with  rank  vigor,  rose  out  of  jungles  choked  with 
vines  and  wind-dried  twigs ;  and  among  the  roots 
grew  fat  toad-stools,  emitting  dank,  earthy  smells. 
There  was  an  air  of  neglect  and  decay  everywhere, 
which  in  the  midst  of  the  flaunting  splendor  and 
bloom  of  the  awakening  year  was  infinitely  sad.  Tho 
touch  of  Mother  Earth  at  such  times  somehow  appeals 
to  a  slumbering  ancestral  lawlessness  within  us;  it 
arouses  unsuspected  savage  instincts,  which  we  im 
agined  that  centuries  of  civilization  had  obliterated. 
Julian  felt,  as  he  sniffed  the  odorous  breeze,  all  sorts 
of  wild,  inarticulate  desires  stirring  in  his  blood.  The 
vernal  ferment  and  dim  agitation  of  strong  slumberous 
powers  were  thrilling  through  his  blood,  and  after  his 
long  conscientious  repression  the  old  Adam  awoke, 
and  stretched  his  stiffened  limbs  and  opened  wide  his 
eager  eyes.  The  life  he  had  lived  and  the  battles 
he  had  fought  during  these  many  months  assumed  a 
curious  unreality,  and  seemed  pale,  distant,  and  un 
natural.  Even  Grantloy,  whoso  saintly  heroism  had 
been  like  a  bugle-call  in  his  ears,  suffered  some  strange 
distortion,  and  affected  him  almost  with  repulsion. 
Had  he  not  nursed  a  beautiful  delusion,  both  in 
believing  that  he  could  be  like  him,  and  in  striving 


240       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

• 

to  emulate  such  bloodless  perfection  ?  A  kind  of  su 
perior  pity  for  his  friend  flitted  through  his  mind,  fol 
lowed  by  a  fresh  accession  of  loyalty  and  affection. 
'  But  it  was  affection  for  the  man  alone,  which  did  not 
exclude  pity  for  his  delusion. 

Julian  sauntered  up  one  avenue  and  down  another, 
marveling  vaguely  at  his  turpitude,  and  yet  acquiescing 
in  it  as  a  fact.  Suddenly  he  found  himself  at  the 
head  of  a  broad  staircase  which  led  down  into  a  tun 
nel,  connecting  the  upper  with  the  lower  garden.  An 
idlo  curiosity  prompted  him  to  explore  this  mysterious 
passage,  arid  without  much  thought  he  descended  the 
stairs.  The  transition  from  the  dazzle  of  the  daylight 
without  was  so  abrupt  that  for  a  moment  ho  scarcely 
saw  anything.  He  felt  a  lizard  crawl  over  his  boot, 
and  the  damp  coolness  waft  over  his  face.  Then,  at 
a  distance  of  seventy  or  a  hundred  feet,  a  shrine  be 
came  visible,  before  which  a  lamp  was  burning.  A 
wooden  Madonna,  in  a  tawdry  silver-spangled  gown, 
was  holding  a  rudely  carved  babe,  likewise  of  wood, 
and  arrayed  in  a  shirt  which  had  once  been  blue, 
and  showed  signs  of  tinsel  paper.  It  was  in  a  wholly 
pagan  mood  that  Julian  strolled  up  to  this  pathetic 
idol,  and  after  having  regarded  it  with  a  commiserat 
ing  smile  seated  himself  on  the  steps  of  the  shrine. 
IIo  lenncd  his  head  in  his  hand,  and  in  a  confuted 
way  began  to  think  of  his  past  and  of  his  future.  Ilia 
perceptions  began  to  clarify ;  and  pangs  of  regret  be 
set  him  at  many  things  which  it  was  now  too  late  to 
alter.  All  his  rebellious  reflections  of  a  moment  ago 
were  overcome  by  saner  argument ;  and  the  resolution 
to  continue  the  good  fight  until  his  nobler  and  better 
self  should  finally  and  forever  subjugate  his  baser  self, 


DESCENSUS  AVERNI.  241 

reasserted  itself  with  renewed  strength.  The  image 
of  Constance  Douglas,  with  her  pure  brow  and  noble, 
placid  gaze,  rose  before  his  fancy  like  a  beacon-light 
lifted  high  over  the  waves,  and  he  lingered  fondly  at 
the  thought  of  her,  striving  to  retain,  as  long  as  possi 
ble,  the  impression  of  her  loveliness.  The  old  query 
as  to  what  influence  she  would  exert  upon  his  life — 
what  tendency  she  would  strengthen — recurred  to  him 
most  forcibly.  Would  she  lead  hii/i  upward  or  down 
ward  ?  It  seemed  sacrilege  to  ask  the  question ;  for 
she  seemed  the  incarnation  of  all  vhat  was  good  and 
noble  and  beautiful.  The  thought  of  having  her,  of 
holding  her  in  his  arms,  calling  her  loving  names,  and 
giving  vent  to  the  rapture  which  the  sight  of  her  in 
spired,  mounted  like  strong  wine  to  his  brain,  and  in 
duced  a  delirium  of  delight.  But  what  was  that? 
Footsteps  surely — footsteps  approaching  I  The  walls 
of  the  tunnel  gave  such  manifold  resonance  that  it 
was  impossible  to  determine  whether  it  was  one  person 
or  several.  But  whoever  it  was,  he  was  coming  nearer 
— nearer.  Now  the  sheen  of  the  lamp  fell  upon  a 
face — Constance's  face.  Some  one  gave  a  cry  which 
awoke  wild  echoes;  and  he  stood — he  did  not  know 
how  or  why — he  stood  upright,  holding  Constance  in 
his  arms,  and  agitated  voices  sounded  in  his  ears.  But 
he  heard  nothing  except  her  panting  breath,  which 
wandered  warmly  over  his  cheeks,  and  the  rustle  of  her 
garments,  as  he  swiftly  bore  her  out  into  the  daylight. 
After  the  assembling  of  Sir  Percy's  guests  on  the 
terrace,  all  had  by  common  consent  started  out  to  ex 
plore  the  neighborhood  of  the  villa.  Constance  al 
lowed  herself  to  be  carried  off  unresistingly  by  the 
count,  'who,  in  response  to  a  random  remark  of  hers 
Id 


THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

about  the  rank  luxuriousness  of  vegetation  in  the  lower 
garden,  offered  to  conduct  her  thither.  In  order  to 
get  there  they  were  obliged  to  descend  a  flight  of  slip 
pery  stairs,  overgrown  with  rock- weed,  and  to  pene 
trate  the  long,  dark  tunnel,  in  which  burned  but  the 
dim  lamp  before  a  shrine  of  the  Madonna.  A  damp 
and  muggy  smell  struck  against  them,  like  something 
tangible,  as  they  plunged  into  the  chilly  dusk,  and 
Constance  drew  her  shawl  shudderingly  about  her. 
She  would  never  have  allowed  herself  to  bo  beguiled 
into  such  an  expedition  if  she  had  had  the  full  com 
mand  of  her  will-power  and  had  known  the  nature  of 
tho  undertaking.  But  tdnca  Burroughs  had  Inft  hor, 
she  found  herself  in  a  curiously  lethargic  and  semi- 
comatose  condition.  It  did  not  seem  to  matter  in  the 
least  what  she  did,  or  what  was  done  with  her.  The 
count's  compliments,  which  she  had  hitherto  received 
with  smiling  satisfaction,  appeared  now  vapid  and 
meaningless,  and  the  whole  personality  of  her  once 
favored  admirer  had  undergone  a  similar  change. 
There  was  something  futile  and  trivial  and  hollow 
about  them.  She  regretted  having  accepted  his  escort 
upon  this  adventurous  descensus  AvernL  Neverthe 
less,  she  clutched;  his  arm  with  an  energy  which  he  was 
in  danger  of  misinterpreting.  For  she  had  once  a  sen 
sation  of  stepping  on  something  alive,  which  sent  cold 
shudders  down  'her  back.  And  presently  a  dreadful 
conviction  took  hold  of  her,  that  something  was  stir 
ring  behind  her,  following  close  in  her  steps,  moving 
when  she  moved,  pausing  when  she  paused.  She  would 
have  liked  to  turn  around  and  see  what  it  was,  but  she 
could  not  summon  courage  to  do  it.  There  it  was 
again,  unmistakably.  Could  it  be  a  robber  or  high- 


DESCENSUS  AVERNI.  243 

wayman  ?  The  neighborhood,  she  had  heard,  teemed 
with  dangerous  characters  ;  and  it  was  not  so  very  long 
since  Prince  Lucien  Bonaparte  was  attacked  and  plun 
dered  with  his  entire  household  at  his  Villa  Rufinella. 
The  count,  too,  was  afraid  of  something ;  for  he  urged 
her  on  as  much  as  he  could  without  betraying  his  fear. 
But  the  footsteps  behind  her  kept  pace  with  their 
speed.  Constance  saw,  with  the  vividness  of  terror, 
an  awful  bloodthirsty  face  close  behind  her,  coming 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  a  pair  of  brown,  bony  hands 
outstretched  to  clasp  her  neck  in  a  strangling  grip. 
With  this  cold  horror  clutching  at  her  heart  she  rushed 
forward.  The  lamp,  the  shrine,  the  rude  features  of 
the  Madonna,  reeled  and  were  engulfed  in  the  encom 
passing  gloom.  A  sound  of  rushing  waters  filled  her 
ears ;  and  she  felt  herself  sinking,  sinking — but  sud 
denly  caught  in  a  firm  embrace  and  hurried  away,  she 
could  not  toll  whither.  A  sweet  repose  diffused  itself 
through  her  mind,  and  she  lost  herself  in  a  white,  bliss 
ful  void,  and  dissolved  into  the  infinite  nothing. 

When  she  regained  consciousness  she  found  herself 
lying  on  the  gravel  in  the  garden,  with  Burroughs's 
coat  rolled  up  under  her  head.  He  was  kneeling  at 
her  side,  bathing  her  temples  with  eau-de-cologne  and 
holding  a  vinaigrette  to  her  nose.  On  the  other  side 
of  her  stood  young  Talbot,  with  a  face  full  of  acute 
misery,  and  the  count,  with  an  angry  frown  upon  his 
brow,  biting  his  mustache,  and  bristling  with  sup 
pressed  hostility.  The  sun  shone  all  about  her,  the 
leaves  of  the  ilex  rustled,  and  there  was  a  great  stone- 
pine  which  blotted  oat  half  the  sky.  That  was  the 
only  impression  which  for  a  long  while  penetrated 
her  torpid  senses.  Then  slowly  her  memory  asserted 


244       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE, 

this  fact  and  that — but  the  face  of  Burroughs  lean 
ing  over  her,  with  tender  solicitude,  had  somehow  no 
connection  with  anything  she  could  recall,  and  made 
her  doubt  whether  she  was  fully  awake. 

"  It  is  this  young  man,"  she  heard  the  count  say, 
in  a  tone  of  irritation ;  "  it  is  he  who  has  caused  this 
misfortune."  He  did  not  point  toward  Talbot,  but  lie 
turned  his  head  toward  him  and  stared  at  him  with 
savage  severity.  In  response  to  Constance's  wonder 
ing  look,  he  continued,  "  It  was  he  who  walked  behind 
us  and  frightened  you." 

Talbot  looked  the  picture  of  abject  humility  and 
despair ;  he  almost  tottered  under  the  burden  of  his 
guilt.  It  was  his  torturing  jealousy  which  had  prompt 
ed  him  to  play  the  spy.  To  see  his  beloved  plunge,  as 
it  were,  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  with  his  detested 
rival  (it  was  in  this  kind  of  melodramatic  language 
that  Talbot  depicted  the  situation  to  himself) — what 
sort  of  lover  would  he  have  been  if  he  had  endured 
such  an  affront  ?  Of  course  he  had  not  intended  to 
frighten  her  out  of  her  wits,  nor  had  it  occurred  to 
him  that  his  stealthy  footsteps  behind  her  (which  he 
imagined  were  quite  inaudible)  would  send  her  flying 
toward  the  shrine  where  that  loon  Burroughs  was 
moping  over  his  disappointments.  It  was  he,  rising 
like  a  phantom  out  of  the  dusk,  who  had  done  all 
the  mischief,  and  against  whom  the  count's  wrath 
ought  to  have  been  directed.  Ah,  yes ;  women  were 
enigmatical  creatures,  at  best.  He  was  a  fool  to  make 
himself  miserable  on  their  account.  But  he  would 
have  had  to  be  more  than  human  to  preserve  his  equa 
nimity  at  the  sight  of  those  two  odious  fellows,  assist 
ing  Constance  to  rise  and  vying  with  each  other  in 


DESCKNSUS  AVERNI.  245 

ministering  to  her  comfort.     lie  did  not  know  whom 
he  hated  most — the  nobleman  or  the  commoner. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Suint-Re'ault,  with  frigid 
civility,  bowing  with  an  air  of  dismissal  to  the  two 
Americans,  "  we  are  vary  obliged.  Mees  Dooglas  need 
you  not  more.  And  you,  Meester  Talbot,  I  shall  have 
ze  pleasir  to  send  a  friend  to  you  to-morrow,  to  call . 
you  to  account  for  your  espionage,  ees  it  not  so?" 

Talbot  felt  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  The  way 
that  high-nosed  Frenchman  said  u  we  "  nearly  drove 
•him  to  distraction.  He  could  have  murdered  the  count 
with  enthusiasm,  and  he  felt  a  tragic  satisfaction  in 
the  probability  that  to-morrow  the  count  might  have 
the  privilege  of  murdering  him  instead.  For  that  the 
friend's  call  meant  a  challenge  he  had  no  doubt,  and 
those  military  fire-eaters  were  expert  shots  and  swords 
men,  against  whom  he  could  scarcely  hold  a  candle. 
The  young  man,  in  a  state  of  exalted  misery,  marched 
down  the  weed-choked  gravel-walk,  and  hid  his  sor 
rows  behind  the  foliage  of  a  wild-growing  arbor. 

Burroughs,  in  a  different  frame  of  mind,  followed 
a  diverging  path,  striding  heedlessly  along,  torn  by 
conflicting  emotions.  A  savage  wrath  and  a  savage 
exultation  alternately  chased  his  blood  through  hia 
veins  and  kindled  sparks  of  excitement  in  his  eyes. 
His  courage  flared  up  with  his  resentment  at  being 
dismissed  in  that  lofty  way ;  and  he  regretted  having 
acquiesced  in  the  count's  dictation,  when  obviously  he 
had  forfeited  his  right  to  dictate.  But  then,  the  glory 
of  having  held  her  in  his  arms — the  reminiscent  press 
ure  of  her  noble  form — the  lingering  delight  of  her 
touch,  as  he  fondly  strove  to  retain  it — tingled  through 
his  nerves  and  made  his  pulses  bound.  With  a  vagrant 


246       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

impulse,  stimulated  by  the  strong  emotions,  he  broke 
through  the  hedges,  struck  across  the  solemn  cypress 
grove,  and  stared  with  a  blind  preoccupation  at  the 
dancing  fountains.  He  heard  faintly  the  summons 
of  the  bugle  from  the  terrace,  and  saw,  as  in  a  dream, 
the  ladies  mounted  upon  donkeys,  each  escorted  by  a 
cavalier,  move  out  of  the  gate  and  descend  the  stony 
slope.  Now  and  then  a  pretty  face  and  figure  became 
visible  above  the  wall,  a  bright-colored  garment  glim 
mered  between  the  great  tree-trunks,  and  a  snatch  of 
gay  laughter  re-echoed  from  the  grand  fa$ade  of  the 
villa.  But  it  appeared  in  no  way  to  concern  him  ;  he 
had  lost  all  sense  of  coherence  with  the  world  about 
him.  Only  one  thing  was  of  consequence ;  only  one 
thing  concerned  him.  He  flung  himself  down  under 
a  stone-pine  and  listened  absently  to  the  twitter  of  the 
birds  overhead.  And  hope  sang  in  his  blood  like  a 
siren. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  PERPLEXING    SITUATION. 

1 

TALBOT  paced  up  and  down  the  mosaic  floor  in  his 
stately  studio.  He  was  in  a  state  of  feverish  excite 
ment.  Now  he  lelt  glorified,  exalted,  and  then  again 
humiliated,  angry,  and  mortally  frightened.  He  did 
not  like  to  acknowledge  this  latter  emotion,  but,  for 
all  that,  whan  the  cold  fact  stared  him  in  the  face  that 
before  night  he  might  bo  a  dead  man,  he  found  it  im 
possible  to  suppress  a  nervous  tremor.  He  had  spent 
the  night  in  making  a  pathetic  will,  in  which  he  be- 


A  PERPLEXING  SITUATION.  247 

queathed  his  pictures  and  all  his  other  effects  to  Con 
stance  Douglas,  "  as  a  memoral  of  the  love  he  bore 
her/'  There  were  no  reproaches,  no  sentimental  allu 
sions,  but  merely  this  barren,  matter-of-fact  statement, 
which  he  repeated  to  himself,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  floor.  He  never  ob 
served  where  the  rugs  ended  and  the  mosaic  com 
menced,  and  the  sudden  click  of  his  heels  upon  the 
stone  gave  him  every  time  a  slight  shock.  The  vision 
of  Constance  in  her  suave  and  lovely  dignity — so 
gentle,  BO  high-bred,  so  distractingly  adorable — hov 
ered  before  him  wherever  he  turned  ;  and  the  thought 
that  this  one  glorious  woman — the  only  one  in  all  the 
world  for  him — should  belong  to  that  soulless,  me 
chanical  puppet  of  a  Frenchman  filled  him  with  an 
agony  of  despair.  He  had  never  imagined  that  this 
wild  strength  of  suffering  was  in  him.  It  seemed  as  if 
every  cord  of  his  being  must  snap — as  if  every  breath 
that  broke  with  pain  from  the  depth  of  his  breast 
must  be  his  last 

His  breakfast  was  sent  to  his  bedroom,  which  ad 
joined  the  studio,  at  about  nine  o'clock,  but  he  found 
it  impossible  to  touch  it.  Watkins,  the  servant,  ob 
served  with  wonder  that  he  had  not  been  undressed, 
and  asked  respectfully  if  he  might  not  bring  him  a 
glass  of  port  wine  or  sherry.  Talbot  nodded,  and  con 
tinued  his  restless  walk.  On  the  return  of  the  servant 
he  drank  a  glass  of  sherry,  and  his  agitation  presently 
gave  way  to  a  dogged  stoicism.  He  was  about  to  seal 
the  envelope  containing  his  will,  when  suddenly  it  oc 
curred  to  him  that  without  a  witness  it  would  not  be 
valid.  He  accordingly  rang  for  Watkins,  and  with  a 
nonchalant  air  begged  him  to  witness  the  signature  of 


248       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

this  paper.  Watkins,  taking  in  the  situation  at  a 
glance,  scrawled  a  series  of  large  and  rambling  letters 
which  might  or  might  not  mean  Watkins.  Then  he 
took  his  leave  noiselessly,  and  within  two  minutes  Sir 
Percy  emerged  from  his  bath,  arrayed  in  a  long  dress 
ing-gown  thrown  over  his  robe  de  nuU,  and  advanced 
with  a  startled  countenance  to  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Why,  what  the  deuce — aw— does  this  mean,  Tal- 
bot?"  he  cried,  quite  out  of  breath.  "  Watkins  says 
you  have  been  making  your  will." 

"  Well,  I  just  thought  I  might  as  well  do  it  now  as 
some  other  time,"  Talbot  replied,  with  forced  gayety. 
"  Nobody  knows  when  he's  got  to  turn  up  his  toes,  Sir 
Percy." 

"  Oh,  stuff,  my  boy !  stuff ! "  exclaimed  the  baronet, 
impatiently.  "You  don't  fancy — aw — you  can  fool 
me  with  that  sort  of  chaff,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  fool  you,  Sir  Percy ;  but,  really, 
if  you  will  pardon  me,  I  think  I  am  master  of  my 
own  conduct,  and  do  not  owe  you  an  account  of  my 
actions." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  my  dear  fellow,  don't  be  huffed. 
You  don't  owe  me — aw — anything  but  what  you  would 
— aw — owe  to — aw — any  friend  who  takes  an  interest 
in  you.  Whether  you  like  it  or  not,  I  am  going  to 
stay  with  you  to-day  and  see  that  you  don't  commit 
any  folly." 

Sir  Percy,  wrapping  his  rich  Turkish  dressing- 
gown  about  his  portly  form,  went  to  the  door  and 
rang  the  bell.  When  Watkins  reappeared,  with  a 
promptness  as  if  he  had  been  attached  to  the  bell-cord, 
his  master  ordered,  with  much  minuteness,  the  clothes 
which  he  was  to  wear  and  his  toilet-case. 


A  PERPLEXING  SITUATION. 

"  My  dear  follow,"  the  kind-hearted  Briton  solilo 
quized,  as  he  stood  before  the  mirror  brushing  his 
scant  locks  with  two  superbly-carved  ivory  Brushes,  "  I 
knew  it  well  enough  yesterday.  You  have  —  aw — 
fallen  under  the  enchantment  of  Circe,  don't  you 
know?" 

Talbot,  who  saw  that  every  motion  he  made  was 
watched  in  the  mirror,  flung  himself  into  a  chair  and 
sighed.  He  knew  that  his  noble  friend  was  perhaps  the 
most  stubborn  man  of  the  most  stubborn  race  that  the 
sun  has  ever  shone  upon,  and  he  was  aware  that  re 
monstrance  on  his  part  would  be  sheer  waste  of  breath. 
He  therefore  resigned  himself,  with  much  bitterness 
and  vexation  of  spirit,  to  the  inevitable,  and  fell  to 
watching  the  various  operations  of  the  baronet's  ex 
tremely  complicated  toilet.  He  could  not  help  admir 
ing  his  magnificent  build,  his  great,  hairy  chest,  his 
straight  and  robust  figure,  his  red,  masculine  neck, 
and  the  conscientious  care  which  he  bestowed  upon 
his  personal  adornment.  The  array  of  silver-topped 
cut-glass  bottles  stretched  itself  farther  and  farther 
across  the  curtained  duchesso  toilet-table,  and  a  large 
assortment  of  brushes  and  instruments  of  manicure 
occupied  all  the  space  that  was  left  The  valet,  who 
stood  by,  silently  handing  his  master  each  article  as  it 
was  needed,  was  the  most  perfect  human  automaton 
that  ever  could  have  been  devised.  The  undyed  camel's- 
hair  under-clothes  were  fine  as  silk  and  as  light  and 
soft  as  down.  As  the  sublime  never  lies  remote  from 
the  ridiculous,  Talbot  soon  found  himself  pitying  hia 
own  simple  estate.  When  compared  with  this  indis 
putably  superior  product  of  a  more  complex  civiliza 
tion)  his  hasty  ten- minutes'  toilet  appeared  to  him  like 


250       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

a  remnant  of  barbarism.  As  a  mere  well-groomed 
animal,  he  surely  could  not  hold  a  candle  to  his  host 
And  might  not  that  possibly  account  for  the  light  es 
teem  in  which  he  was  held  by  the  woman  he  loved  ? 
It  was  an  instinctive  sentiment  on  her  part,  of  course ; 
but  was  it  at  all  unlikely  that  she,  who  herself  belonged 
to  the  physically  elaborate,  highly  developed  species, 
might  feel  a  half -unconscious  alienation  from  him  be 
cause  he  was  a  less  perfect  animal  and  less  carefully 
tended  ?  The  count  moved  at  her  side  with  stately 
ease  as  her  peer  and  equal,  and  not  a  hair  of  his  head 
or  of  his  waxed  mustache  was  ever  out  of  order.  His 
nails  were  long,  polished,  and  rosy,  and  hia  handa 
large,  firm,  and  of  fine  shape.  That,  in  spite  of  this, 
ho  was  unutterably  detestable,  sho  could  scarcely  bo 
expected  to  discover,  because  she  had  lived  only  on  the 
surface  of  her  soul,  and  had  never  had  any  experience 
which  had  stirred  its  depths. 

It  was  a  bitter  discovery  the  young  artist  made 
while  lie  nat  thuro  watching  Sir  Percy  preparing  him 
self  for  the  battle  of  life.  He  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  his  love  was  hopeless;  that  even  if  he  was  not 
killed  to-day—even  if  he  had  never  been  refused — 
there  was  not  a  shadow  of  a  possibility  that  Constance 
would  over  put  lip  with  such  a  second-rate  specimen 
of  humanity  as  himself.  It  accordingly  made  very 
little  difference  whether  the  count  killed  him  or  not ; 
and  he  determined,  when  the  second  called,  to  choose 
pistols  and  as  short  a  distance  as  the  rules  permitted. 

It  was  a  little  after  ton  o'clock  when  Sir  Percy  dis 
missed  his  valot,  hooked  his  arm  in  Talbot's,  and  con 
ducted  him  into  the  studio.  The  latter,  being  too 
utterly  broken  in  spirit  to  offer  any  resistance,  dropped 


A  PERPLEXING  SITUATION.  251 

into  an  easy-chair  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  The 
baronet  remained  standing  in  front  ef  him,  and  gazed 
at  him  with  eyes  full  of  compassion. 

"  Talbot,  my  boy,"  he  said,  seriously,  "  I  am  sorry 
for  you ;  I  am  awf ully  sorry  for  you.  If  it  were — aw 
— a  heartless  coquette  who  had  set  her  trap  for  you,  I 
could — aw — I  could  perhaps  help  you;  but  she  isn't  that 
sort  The  deuce  of  it  is  that  she  is  divinely  perfect.  If  I 
were — aw — twenty  years  younger,  I  might  make  my  will, 
too,  because  she  had  refused  me— don't  you  know  ? — 
and  put — aw — a  hole  through — aw — my  cranium,  and 
make  no  end  of — aw — unpleasantness  for  my  friends. 
But — aw — I  have,  on  the  whole,  forgiven  her — aw — 
for  not  wanting  to  be  Lady  Armitage,  and — aw — I 
dare  say  you  will  forgive  her  for  not  wishing  to  bo 
Mrs.  Talbot,  don't  you  know?" 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  speech,  which  was 
the  longest  Talbot  ever  had  heard  him  make,  Sir  Percy 
began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  floor,  pausing  every 
now  and  then  before  the  sketches  and  unfinished  pict 
ures  which  adorned  the  room.  The  studio  was  a 
perfect  museum  of  picturesque  antiquities ;  mediaeval 
swords,  armors,  helmets,  and  breast-plates  shone  upon 
the  walls,  and  a  variety  of  rich  textile  fabrics,  Italian 
and  Oriental,  were  draped  over  easels,  tables,  and 
carved  chests  of  oak,  exhibiting  gaunt  saints  in  devo 
tional  attitudes.  All  these  treasures  belonged  to  Sir 
Percy,  but  he  delighted  to  play  Maecenas,  and  his  lib 
erality  toward  his  artistic  protege  knew  no  bounds. 

"  Talbot,"  he  said,  after  having  studied  a  bronze 
Faun  upon  the  mantel-piece  with  feigned  interest, 
"  I  wish  you  would  cheer  up  and  go  to  work.  I  don't 
want — aw — to  scold  ;  but  for  your  own  sake — don't 


252       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

you  know? — it  might  be  a  good  thing.  I  can  pardon 
— aw — a  man  in  love  for  being  lazy,  but  I  can't — aw 
.—pardon  a  lazy  man  for  being  in  love." 

This  unexpected  epigram  BO  pleased  its  author  that 
he  had  to  take  another  turn  on  the  floor,  and  the  world 
in  general  began  to  assume  a  more  cheerful  aspect  to 
him.  He  was  about  to  impart  some  more  good  advice, 
when  "VVatkins  entered  and  presented  him  with  a  card 
upon  a  silver  Hiilver. 

"  M.  [Raymond  de  Bellac !  I  know  no  such 
man," 

"  The  call  is  for  me,"  said  Talbot,  with  forced  com 
posure,  lifting  his  pale  and  suffering  face  from  the  arm 
of  tho  chair. 

44  You  wish  me  to  go  ?  " 

44  If  you  would  be  so  kind." 

Sir  Percy  stood  for  a  moment  hesitating,  and  turned 
at  last  to  go.  But  before  he  reached  the  door  he  faced 
about  and  took  throe  rapid  steps  toward  his  young 
friend. 

"  Talbot,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  sympathetic  dis 
tress,  44you  have  some  devilish  plan  in  your  head. 
There  is — aw — no  use  denying  it." 

"Well,  suppose  1  have;  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?" 

*4  Watch  you  till  you  recover  your  reason ;  that  is 
what  I  am  going  to  do  about  it." 

44 1  shall  never  recover  my  reason,  as  you  call  it." 

44  My  dear  fellow,  that  is — aw — what  wo  all  think, 
don't  you  know  ?  But  never  is  a  good  while.  I  will 
lay  you  a  hundred  guineas  that — aw — in  a  fortnight 
you  will  have  taken  your  place  rationally — aw — with 
the  rest  of  us  at  the — aw — foot  of  the  shrine  and  be — 


A  PERPLEXING  SITUATION.  253 

aw — humbly  content  with  the  sight  and  the  smile — 
aw — of  the  goddess." 

The  baronet  had  in  the  mean  while  made  a  sign  to 
Watkins  to  show  the  visitor  in.  Presently  a  small, 
dapper  Frenchman,  with  an  ominously  solemn  mien, 
was  ushered  into  the  room.  He  gazed  doubtfully  from 
Talbot  to  Sir  Percy,  and,  as  the  latter  seemed  to  as 
sume  the  duties  of  host,  he  approached  him  with  a 
ceremonious  bow,  and  said : 

"  I  have  the  honor  to  present  to  you,  in  behalf  of 
my  friend  M.  le  Comte  de  Saint-R6ault,  a  challenge 
to  fight  a  duel,  with  swords  or  pistols,  as  it  may  suit 
your  convenience." 

"  Ho,  ho ! "  ejaculated  Sir  Percy,  "  I  was — aw — ex 
pecting  something  of  that  sort. — But,  my  dear  boy," 
he  cried,  turning  to  Talbot,  "  what  have  you  been 
doing  to  the  count — aw — to  make  him — aw — want  to 
kill  you?  I  thought  you  said — aw — you  had  been 
refused." 

"  No,  I  didn't  say  it" 

"  Then  you  have  been  accepted  !  Corpo  di  Bacco  ! 
But  what  the  deuce  is  it  you  are — aw — moping  about, 
then?" 

"  You  can't  understand,  Sir  Percy,  and  I  can  not 
explain." 

"  You  are — aw — not  exactly  complimentary,  don't 
you  know  ?  " 

Talbot  looked  wearily  out  of  the  window. 

"  If  you  will  pardon  me,  Sir  Percy,"  he  said,  after 
a  pause,  "  I  will  settle  this  affair  with  M.  de  Bella*, 
and  you  will  have  the  kindness,  I  hope,  not  to— -not 
to— M 

"Not  to  interfere.    Yes,  exactly.  'All  right,  my 


THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

boy.    If  you  want — aw — to  make  a  target  of  yourself, 
it  ia — aw — your  affair  and  not  mine." 

Sir  Percy  made  a  bow  to  the  Frenchman,  and,  to 
Talbot's  surprise,  took  his  departure.  When  his  broad 
back  vanished  behind  the  blue  por  litres,  his  protege 
drew  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  proceeded,  in  as  good  French 
as  he  could  command,  to  make  arrangements  for  a  duel 
in  a  vineyard  outside  the  Porta  Pia  at  seven  o'clock 
the  following  morning.  Quite  unconsciously  he  took 
for  his  model  the  hero  of  one  of  Sardou's  plays,  and 
acted  with  an  airy  nonchalance  which  he  felt  to  be 
extremely  impressive.  He  insisted  upon  pistols  and 
twenty  paces,  and  remarked  with  a  melancholy  smile 
that  he  hoped  that  the  count  would  forgive  him  for 
taking  an  advantage  of  him  in  presenting  the  smaller 
target.  He  hoped  the  count's  superior  skill  in  the  use 
of  weapons  would  compensate  for  this  disadvantage. 
M.  de  Bellac,  who  was  quite  unprepared  for  such 
blood-curdling  sang-froid  in  an  American,  objected  to 
his  barbarous  conditions,  and  gave  Talbot  the  satisfac 
tion  of  playing  his  heroic  part  to  the  end.  Of  course 
I  do  not  mean  to  insinuate  that  his  sorrow  was  feigned 
and  his  conduct  insincere ;  but  his  temperament  was 
so  constituted  that  he  could  act  and  suffer  simultaneous 
ly.  A  curious  suty-consciousness  of  heroism  throbbed 
through  his  sore  and  aching  heart,  without  at  all  re 
lieving  its  soreness. 

After  a  conference  lasting  half  an  hour,  M.  de  Bellac 
backed  out  of  the  room  with  many  bows,  promising  to 
return  in  the  afternoon  with  the  count's  acceptance  or 
proposed  modifications  of  the  conditions.  Talbot  spent 
the  forenoon  (as  he  felt,  under  the  constant  surveil 
lance  of  the  servants)  in  writing  farewell  letters  to  his 


THE  SUPREME  MOMENT.  255 

friends,  until  he  was  interrupted  by  the  announcement 
of  luncheon.  He  found  Sir  Percy,  who  had  just  re 
turned  from  a  drive,  in  excellent  humor,  without  at 
all  suspecting  .the  cause.  But  at  three  o'clock,  when 
M.  de  Bellac  returned  with  a  letter  from  the  count 
unconditionally  withdrawing  his  challenge  and  declar 
ing  that  it  had  been  provoked  by  a  deplorable  misun 
derstanding,  the  plot  began  to  unravel  itself,  and  he 
divined  that  Sir  Percy  must  be  at  the  bottom  of  it 
He  felt  angry  at  first,  and  humiliated ;  he  could  not 
but  regret  the  wasted  misery  and  poignant  sorrow  of 
the  night.  But  he  did  not  dare  question  Sir  Percy, 
or  complain.  He  knew  that  what  he  had  done  was 
prompted  by  the  kindest  feeling.  A  strange  lassitude 
came  over  him.  He  felt  weary  and  withered  in  every 
limb.  The  world  lay  like  a  great  dreary  blank  before 
him.  But  when  he  closed  his  eyes,  there  shone  with 
a  mild  radiance  in  his  memory  a  pure  and  lovely  face, 
and  a  pair  of  clear  and  tranquil  eyes  gazed  upon  him 
with  a  divine  compassion. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  SUPREME   MOMENT. 

ALL  thought  was  gradually  obliterated,  and  a  mere 
bright  vacuity  filled  Julian's  mind,  as  he  lay  under  the 
great  stone-pine  smiling  toward  the  sunset  and  the 
world  in  general.  There  was  a  tremendous  illumination 
of  flaming  saffron,  purple,  and  gold  behind  the  domes 


256       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

and  towers  of  the  Eternal  City ;  and  long  shafts  of  fiery 
splendor  strayed  up  toward  the  zenith.  Such  a  serene 
contentment  had  invaded  the  young  man's  soul  after 
his  agitation  that  he  could  afford  to  smile  even  at  his 
jealousy,  and  make  light  of  everything  that  interposed 
itself  between  him  and  the  goal  of  his  desires.  He 
could  not  have  adduced  any  rational  basis  for  his 
confidence ;  it  was  simply  a  sentiment  of  the  hour — a 
sense  of  spiritual  freshness  and  strength ;  an  imperi 
ous  upwelling  of  youth  and  conquering  energy. 

It  seemed  to  him,  as  he  lay  there  in  the  rays  of  the 
sotting  sun,  that  the  sound  of  his  name  floated  with  a 
vaguo  aeolian  echo  above  his  head ;  but  deeming  it  a 
delusion  he  refrained  from  answering.  Five  minutes 
passed;  and  again  the  curious  phenomenon  was  re 
peated.  He  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and  looked 
about.  Except  for  the  nightingales  that  warbled  rapt 
urously  in  the  tree  above  him,  the  garden  was  silent 
and  deserted.  He  was  about  to  lapse  once  more  into 
his  reverie  when  he  heard  Grantley's  voice  shouting  his 
name  with  startling  distinctness.  He  aroused  him 
self  from  his  lethargy,  rose  up,  stretched  his  limbs, 
which  had  grown  somewhat  stiff,  and  answered.  There 
was  a  joyous  ring  in  the  next  shout  which  followed ; 
and  presently  Grantley  was  seen  on  the  upper  terrace, 
shading  his  eyes  against  the  sun,  while  he  stared  into 
the  luxuriant  wilderness. 

"  Burroughs,  where  are  you  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Here,"  answered  Burroughs,  strolling  along  the 
gravel-walk  toward  the  terrace. 

"  But,  in  heaven's  name,  old  man,  don't  you  know 
that  every  breath  you  draw  here  after  sunset  is  freight* 
ed  with  death?" 


THE  SUPREME  MOMENT.  257 

"  Why,  no.  I  had  no  idea  of  it  Any  wuy,  the  sun 
is  just  now  setting." 

44  Yes ;  but  hurry  up.  The  train  has  gone,  and  you 
musn't  linger  here  a  moment  longer." 

44  All  right     I  am  coming." 

They  met  on  the  upper  terrace,  and,  after  some 
strong  expression  of  reprobation  on  Grantley's  part  at 
his  friend's  folly,  they  started  on  foot  for  the  town, 
caught  a  later  train,  and  reached  Rome  about  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening. 

The  next  day  the  oiin  came  down  in  torrents. 
Julian  awoke  late,  and  after  breakfast  sat  smoking 
and  staring  at  some  American  papers  which  had  been 
sent  him  by  his  father.  But  though  he  read  the  same 
paragraphs  three  or  four  times,  they  failed  to  convey 
any  meaning  to  him.  His  thoughts  seemed  incapable 
of  concentration  on  any  subject  unconnected  with  the 
one  which  diffused  itself  like  a  golden  haze  through 
his  mind.  He  seated  himself  at  the  window,  and  ab 
sently  watched  the  long  slanting  lines  of  the  shower, 
and  the  fitful  writhings  of  the  smoke  that  issued  from 
a  chimney  opposite.  The  steady  drumming  of  the 
rain  on  the  roof,  the  splashing  discharge  of  the  water 
spouts  into  the  gutters,  and  now  and  then  a  total  blot 
ting  out  of  earth  and  sky  in  a  furious  downpour  gave, 
in  a  purely  mechanical  way,  an  outward  direction  to 
his  senses,  but  it  was  like  a  scene  in  a  trance  which 
flits  by  leaving  no  impression. 

The  thought  of  Constance,  the  recollection  of  her 
loveliness,  and  particularly  her  invitation  to  him  to 
call,  were  burning  and  glowing  in  his  brain.  The 
minutes  dragged  along  at  a  wretched  snail's  pace ;  and 
the  hands  of  his  watch  seemed  to  experience  insur- 
17 


258       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

mountable  difficulties  in  reaching  the  hour  of  noon. 
When  finally  the  Trinita  de'  Monti,  which  was  always 
celebrating  some  saint's  birth  or  demise,  gave  forth  a 
muffled  sound  of  bell-strokes  through  the  rain,  Julian 
wrapped  himself  in  his  Mackintosh,  and  sallied  forth 
into  the  uproar  of  the  elements. 

Delia,  who  heard  him  .go  out,  watched  him  from 
her  window,  and  saw  him  mount  the  Spanish  stairs, 
now  deserted  by  the  models,  and  gradually  vanish 
from  her  sight  like  a  ship  in  a  fog. 

"  I  declare,"  cried  Delia,  in  amazement,  "  he  has 
got  it  bad." 

For  she  did  not  decieve  herself  as  to  where  her 
cousin  was  going. 

She  picked  her  way  among  the  sheets  of  large- 
lettered  manuscript  which  covered  the  floor,  and  seiz 
ing  her  diary  made  the  following  sage  entry : 

"  The  stupider  a  woman  is,  if  she  only  looks  well 
and  dresses  well,  the  better  the  men  like  her.  The 
more  indifferent  she  is  to  the  interests  of  her  down 
trodden  sex,  the  more  adorable  they  think  her.  Sub 
ject  for  article  or  lecture :  *  The  most  formidable 
enemy  to  the  cause  of  Woman's  Emancipation  is  Wom 
an — the  pretty,  contented,  shallow-brained  woman, 
who  basks  in  the  degrading  admiration  of  the  men, 
and  is  incapable  of  aspiring  for  anything  better.' " 

Julian  strode  through  the  storm  in  a  half-dazed 
fashion,  being  scarcely  aware  of  its  violence,  but 
reached  the  Palazzo  Barberini  without  accident.  He 
had  discovered  somewhere  in  the  recesses  of  his  nature 
a  deep  appetite  for  happiness  which  seemed  the  direct 
antithesis  to  his  former  ascetic  zeal.  It  had  appeared 
to  him  until  yesterday  that  God  demanded  the  morti- 


THE  SUPREME  MOMENT.  259 

fication  of  the  flesh — that  he  required  the  renuncia 
tion  of  all  pleasure,  as  a  test  of  the  singleness  of  our 
devotion  to  him.  There  had  been  a  certain  satisfac 
tion  in  the  ardent  mood  of  renunciation,  as  there  was 
now  in  the  sweet  hope  of  being  beloved.  Whence 
that  deep  confidence  came  which  now  rose  within  him 
and  cried  out  with  jubilant  voice  he  could  not  tell.  It 
was  built  on  very  flimsy  premises ;  and  was  incapable 
of  analysis.  But  here  he  stood  at  the  bottom  of  the 
broad  marble  staircase,  with  the  grandly  arched  ceil 
ing  above ;  and  his  heart  was  beating  tumultuously  at 
the  mere  prospect  of  seeing  the  face  and  hearing  the 
voice  and  feeling  the  touch  of  Constance  Douglas, 
He  had  just  arrived  at  the  second  landing  of  the  stairs 
when  he  became  aware  of  a  tall  figure  wrapped  in  a 
military  cloak  which  appeared  to  be  descending,  He 
took  off  his  hat,  and  Count  de  Saint-Reault  mutely 
returned  the  greeting.  A  contemptuous  smile  hovered 
about  the  corners  of  his  mouth ;  he  paused  for  a  mo 
ment,  as  if  about  to  speak,  but  reconsidered  and  passed 
down  in  silence.  Burroughs  noticed  that  the  rain 
drops  were  yet  dripping  from  the  visor  of  his  cap,  and 
that  his  mustache  was  a  trifle  demoralized.  It  was 
evident  that  he  had  not  been  received.  Julian  felt, 
however,  no  uneasiness  as  to  his  own  fate ;  and  it  in 
terfered  in  no  wise  with  his  happiness  to  observe  the 
count's  attitude  of  anxious  expectancy  at  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs,  as  he  handed  his  card  to  the  maid 
Hortense,  and  was  provisionally  admitted.  And  why 
did  such  an  inexpressible  well-being  come  over  him, 
when  he  entered  that  softly-draped  salon,  where  the 
pagan  love-gods  danced  along  the  frieze  and  flung 
their  chubby  legs  about  and  found  life  all  laughter 


260       THTC  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

and  roses?  There  was  something  warm  and  richly 
subdued  in  the  light  that  stole  in  between  the  folds  of 
the  tawny  curtains,  and  in  the  faded  Gobelin  tapes 
tries  which  covered  the  walls.  This  was  her  world, 
and  what  a  beautiful  world  it  was — rich  and  rare  and 
instinct  with  delicate  refinement  like  her  own  won 
drous  self.  Her  life  was  like  a  rich,  mellow  fugue, 
with  a  stately  andante  movement,  varied  by  an  occa 
sional  hushed  little  scherzo^  always  dignified  and  har 
monious,  never  jarred  by  a  single  discord.  And  for 
such  a  life  no  setting  could  have  been  more  appropriate. 
Julian  was  enough  of  a  connoisseur  to  relish  the  fine 
Kennaissance  style  of  the  decorations,  and  the  fastidi 
ous  artistic  taste  which  was  revealed  in  the  stuffs  and 
colors  of  the  upholstery.  Some  such  reflection  was 
flitting  through  his  brain,  when  suddenly  a  portiere 
was  drawn  aside  and  he  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  Constance.  She  smiled  radiantly  at  him,  as  she 
reached  him  her  hand,  and  he  imagined  he  read  in 
her  glance  a  cordial  liking  and  confidence.  She  wore 
a  cream  colored  morning-dress,  with  an  elaborate  front 
of  flowered  pink  satin,  fitting  snugly  about  her  fine 
form,  and  with  a  Watteau  plait  starting  from  the  neck 
and  trailing  behind  her.  She  seated  herself  on  a 
little  spindle-legged  lounge,  covered  with  yellow 
brocade,  and  the  regal  way  in  which  she  swept  her 
train  forward,  as  she  sank  down  among  the  silken 
pillows,  gave  him  an  utterly  irrational  thrill  of  pleas 
ure. 

44  It  was  kind  of  you  to  come  to  see  me  in  this 
dreadful  weather,  Mr.  Burroughs,"  she  said,  with  a 
kind  of  sweet  drawl,  which  somehow  told  him  that  she 
had  not  been  very  long  out  of  bed.  There  was  a  soft, 


TUB  SUPREME  MOMENT.  261 

matutinal  brightness  in  her  eyes,  too,  and  an  exquisite 
little  languid  droop  in  the  way  she  held  her  head, 
which  were  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  same  fact,  and 
which,  to  her  chivalrous  adorer  were  replete  with  ten 
der  suggestions. 

"  I  have  a  little  confession  to  make  to  you  which 
could  not  be  postponed  on  account  of  the  weather," 
he  answered  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Ah  !  You  make  me  curious.  I  think,  however, 
I  can  guess  what  you  are  going  to  say.  You  have 
come  to  ask  my  pardon  for  your  shocking  behavior  to 
me?" 

"  My  shocking  behavior? " 

The  playful  note  in  her  accusation  relieved  him  of 
all  apprehension  as  to  the  nature  of  his  offense,  and  he 
awaited  with  smiling  acquiescence  her  indictment 

"  You  surely  do  not  wish  me  to  remind  you  again 
that  you  were  three  months  in  Rome  without  seeking 
my  acquaintance." 

"  No,"  he  said,  looking  straight  into  her  eyes  with 
appealing  earnestness,  "  I  do  not  need  to  be  reminded 
of  it.  My  remaining  away  was  no  accident,  and  if  I 
.were  to  confess  my  reason,  you  would  freely  forgive 
me!" 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that." 

She  colored  with  the  consciousness  of  handling  a 
dangerous  topic.  A  swift  divination  told  her  what 
his  reason  was ;  and  she  had,  prompted  by  an  urgent 
desire,  rashly  invited  him  to  reveal  it  She  was  aware 
that  in  this  man  there  was  a  mysterious  fascination,  a 
compelling  force,  which  made  her,  in  dealing  with 
him,  reverse  her  usual  tactics.  Her  greatest  difficulty, 
in  times  past,  had  been  to  make  men  restrain  and  dis- 


262       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

guise  their  sentiments  toward  her ;  and  now  she  was 
actually  inviting  a  confession. 

Burroughs  had  in  this  moment  so  acute  a  percep 
tion  of  her  loveliness,  that  he  had  to  exert  all  his 
strength  to  preserve  his  self-mastery.  His  pulses 
bounded  with  the  consciousness  of  being  loved  by  this 
glorious  woman ;  and  he  felt  a  certain  impatience  at 
the  necessity  of  polite  hypocrisy  in  the  presence  of 
this  transcendent  fact.  On  the  other  hand,  if  there 
could  be  the  remotest  chance  of  his  deluding  himself, 
could  he  afford  by  foolish  precipitancy  to  imperil  his 
life's  happiness  ? 

"  I  believe  I  told  you,"  he  said,  twisting  the  ends 
of  his  mustache,  "  that  Crampton,  in  some  fantastic 
mood — you  knew  what  a  wild  romanticist  he  was — 
amused  himself— or — I  ought  not  to  say  that — gave 
vent  to  his  enthusiasm  for  you  in  his  letters  to  me. 
He  described  you  with  a  skill — which  had  unfortunate 
results  for  me." 

"  How  so  V  "  she  murmured  with  soft  breathlessness. 

"'I  fell  in  love  with  this  wonderful  fair  unknown, 
whom  Crampton  so  glowingly  described  to  me." 

"  You  fell  in  love  with  her  ?  "  she  repeated,  the  ex 
quisite  hue  in  her  cheeks  deepening. 

"  Yes,  I  fell  in  love  with  her — I  loved  her.  I  came 
to  Rome  to  find  her." 

They  sat  silent  for  some  minutes,  looking  at  each 
other  intently,  without  a  shade  of  embarrassment. 

"How  very  extraordinary,"  she  exclaimed,  half 
rising,  and  putting  her  hand  to  her  forehead.  He 
noticed  what  a  noble  hand  it  was,  and  how  the  fine 
ancient  lace  that  encircled  the  wrist  enhanced  the 
purity  of  its  form  and  contour. 


THE  SUPREME  MOMENT.  263 

"  It  would  have  been  more  extraordinary  if  I  had 
not  fallen  in  love  with  her,"  he  declared  fervently. 

She  could  no  longer  master  her  agitation ;  she  de 
sired  to  appear  playful  and  indifferent,  but  found  it 
impossible  to  recover  her  wonted  serenity.  Pushing 
her  hair  back  from  her  ears,  she  arose  and  walked  to 
the  recess  of  the  window  which  was  heavily  draped 
with  curtains. 

44  You  should  not  have  told  me,  Mr.  Burroughs," 
she  said  with  a  rich  plaintiveness,  showing  him  her 
flushed,  half-averted  face,  "  that  you  stayed  away  for 
such  a  reason.  How  can  you  expect  me  to  forgive 
you  for  finding  my  real  self  inferior  to  the  one  you 
had  imagined  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  said  that ! "  he  cried  with  happy  au 
dacity,  "  I  stayed  away  because  I  found  it  a  thousand 
times  lovelier.'* 

44  You  expect  me  to  believe  that !  Men  are  not  apt 
to  stay  away  for  such  reasons." 

She  was  standing  between  the  portieres  with  her 
back  turned  to  him,  looking  at  him  with  a  bright, 
warm  radiance,  over  her  shoulder.  Her  expression 
altogether  belied  the  skepticism  of  her  words.  She  had  j 
received  the  assurance  for  which  her  wounded  pride 
had  cried  out  during  these  three  months.  She  had 
imagined  before  that  it  was  only  her  pride  which  had 
yearned  to  bring  this  man  to  her  feet ;  simply  to  pun 
ish  him  for  having  shown  such  persistent  indifference 
to  her  long-recognized  sway.  But  now  that  she  had 
him  where  he  ought  long  since  to  have  been,  she  hesi 
tated  to  inflict  the  punishment  She  felt  an  unsus 
pected  tenderness  for  him  stirring  in  the  depth  of  her 
nature.  She  felt  drawn  toward  him  in  a  way  that  she 


264:       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

had  never  experienced  with  any  other  man.  First, 
there  was  the  sense  of  nearness — national  kinship — 
ready  sympathy  and  comprehension — and  then  he  im- 
-  pressed  her  as  a  strong  and  a  considerable  personality. 
With  all  his  frank  and  open  manliness  there  was  some 
thing  almost  appealing  about  him  which  touched  her ; 
something  storm-beaten,  suggesting  suffering  endured, 
and  manifold  masculine  experience.  She  was  so  con 
stituted  that  this,  instead  of  repelling  her  (us  it  might 
1  an  inr/vnue)  warmed  her  heart  toward  him,  and  made 
her  feel  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  conjoined 
physical  and  spiritual  attraction  which  finds  its  natu 
ral  expression  in  a  caress. 

In  obedience  to  a  similar  attraction,  Julian  had 
rison  and  approached  the  window  where  she  was 
standing.  Tho  glorious  spring  rain  came  plunging 
down  with  a  superb  impetus  from  the  clouds,  lashed 
the  window-panes,  filling  the  air  with  its  rush  and 
splash.  The  light  was  dim  in  the  room,  and  every 
now  and  then,  as  a  more  vehement  shower  swept  across 
the  sky,  it  deepened  into  twilight.  But  the  dimness 
gave  a  grateful  sense  of  security  and  isolation  to  the 
two  who  stood  in  the  embrasure  of  tbo  window,  "  in  a 
tumultuous  privacy  of  storm." 

"  I  can  not  allow  you  to  doubt  my  sincerity,"  he 
said,  in  response  to1  her  challenge ;  "  I  loved  you  before 
I  saw  you,  and  after  I  saw  you  I  loved  you  more." 

Sho  looked  porsistently  out  of  tho  window  and 
inmlo  no  answer. 

44  Why,  then,  did  you  not  come?"  she  asked, 
tremulously. 

"  Because  of  Crampton's  death  ;  because  I  believed 
you  to  bo  a  heartless  enchantress— a  Circe  who  smil- 


THE  SUPREME  MOMENT.  265 

ingly  gloated  over  the  destruction  she  had  accom 
plished." 

He  felt  a  slightly  discordant  note  in  this  reply ; 
but  did  not  know  how  to  mend  it.  She  seemed  to  slip 
farther  away  from  him  just  as  she  was  so  deliciously 
near.  His  religious  scruples — his  desire  for  a  higher 
life  than  the  mere  round  of  selfish  pleasure,  which  had 
formerly  filled  his  days — he  found  it  impossible  to 
formulate.  He  could  not  comprehend  the  frame  of 
mind  in  which  he  must  have  been,  when  ho  shrank 
from  her  as  from  one  whose  plane  of  thought  was 
wholly  worldly  and  secular.  Grantley  with  his  stern 
demand  :  "  Thou  shalt  abstain,  renounce,  refrain,"  ap 
peared  so  alien  to  his  fancy,  that  ho  scarcely  could 
understand  how  they  had  ever  been  drawn  so  close 
together.  The  higher  life — the  life  of  renunciation — 
the  life  of  the  spirit — what  queer  phrases  indeed  in  the 
presence  of  this  imperious,  primitive  passion  of  love, 
which  comes  like  a  storm  into  some  lives  with  rum 
bling  thunder  and  scorching  lightning,  and  into  others 
like  a  still  small  voice,  divinely  sweet  and  gentle,  but 
on  that  account  none  the  less  imperious. 

"  Oh,  but  I  can  not  hope  to  make  you  understand 
it,"  he  murmured,  pleadingly.  u  I  shall  only  make 
things  worse  by  explaining.  You  must  trust  mo  a 
little.  You  must  believe  that  I  love  you." 

"  I  do  believe  you,"  she  answered,  softly. 

He  stood  now  close  behind  her  ;  and  by  an  indomi 
table  impulse  his  arm  stole  about  her  waist  A  lovelier 
lace  no  man  ever  saw  than  that  which  she  lifted  toward 
him,  her  eyes  dewy  and  bright,  her  lips  smiling,  her 
cheeks  aglow  with  a  sweet  confusion.  He  made  no 
feint  of  resisting  tho  invitation  of  those  smiling  lips, 


266       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

but  stooped  down  and  kissed  them.  Tho  rain  with  a 
wild  burst  of  vehemence  deluged  the  windows,  blot 
ting  out  both  earth  and  sky. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A   SISTER  OF  CHARITY. 

OUKIOUS  aflinitics  are  apt  to  spring  up  among 
people  who  have  nothing  to  do.  In  Rome  nobody  who 
pretends  to  be  anybody  lias  anything  to  do  ;  and  there 
fore  Americans  who  lived  next  door  to  each  other  in 
New  York  have  to  cross  the  ocean  in  order  to  get  ac 
quainted.  In  the  Eternal  City  all  the  world  has  such 
a  delightful  air  of  leisure.  Everybody  has  time  to 
display  his  attractive  side,  if  he  has  any.  Characters 
which  seemed  arid  and  commonplace  at  home  expand 
luxuriously  and  blossom  out  with  unsuspected  charms. 
After  two  months'  companionship  with  the  Coliseum 
and  the  ruined  palace  of  the  Cu'Rars,  Delia  Saundera 
found  it  less  incumbent  upon  her  to  reform  the  world, 
and  George  Talbot  found  it  less  likely  that  he  would 
dethrone  Raphael.  Delia,  being  conscious  of  the  in 
sidious  influences  of  antiquity,  roused  herself,  however, 
and  in  ordor  to  regain  her  Hclf-ruspect  made  an  occa 
sional  onslaught  on  Christianity,  and  called  upon  Car 
dinal  Jacobini,  the  Papal  Secretary  of  State,  whom  sho 
endeavored  to  convince  of  the  virtues  of  the  emanci 
pation  waist.  She  had  the  brilliant  idea  that  if  she 
could  obtain  the  indorsement  of  the  Vatican  for  her 
invention  and  get  it  introduced  in  the  convents  it 


A  SISTER  OF  CHARITY.  2GT 

would  be  a  magnificent  advertisement  If  she  should 
succeed  in  using  the  tremendous  machinery  of  the 
Roman  Church  for  her  sanitary  propaganda,  she  might 
securely  repose  upon  her  laurels,  knowing  that  her 
cause  would  triumph.  She  was  positive  that  she  had 
made  an  impression  upon  the  cardinal,  and  wrote  an 
enthusiastic  letter  about  him  to  the  "  Woman's  New 
Era."  But  all  her  hopes  were  dashed  to  the  ground 
when  in  the  second  or  third  interview  he  informed  her 
that  his  interest  was  wholly  unofficial,  and  that  more 
over  her  invention  would  be  of  no  use  in  the  convents, 
as  nuns  did  not  wear  corsets.  This  was  a  crushing 
blow,  from  which  it  would  have  taken  another  some 
time  to  recover.  But  Delia  was  of  a  sanguine  tem 
perament  and  constitutionally  irrepressible.  She  lost 
her  respect  for  the  Catholic  Church,  to  be  sure,  of 
which  she  had  recently  been  inclined  to  take  a  favor 
able  view,  and  held  it  now  responsible  for  all  the  ills 
and  misfortunes  of  man.  But  she  looked  the  world  in 
the  face  with  the  same  bold  and  cheery  disrespect  as 
before,  and  presented  outwardly  an  aggressive  front  to 
all  the  shams  which  she  persisted  in  detecting  about 
her.  The  only  one  whom  she  allowed  to  suspect  that 
she  had  lost  heart  was  Sir  Percy. 

It  was  wonderful  how  the  eccentric  baronet  had 
gained  her  confidence.  He  had  quite  ceased  to  apolo 
gize  for  her  now,  nor  did  he  say,  as  before,  that  she 
amused  him,  but  he  allowed  the  world  to  talk,  and 
frankly  acknowledged  the  charm  of  her  companionship. 
Their  first  serious  rapprochement  took  place  during 
Talbot's  illness  after  his  amatory  sufferings  and  his 
frustrated  duel  with  Count  de  Saint-Reault.  Delia 
then  descended  uninvited  upon  the  Palazzo  Altempa, 


268       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

put  tho  wrotchod  Itoman  nurso  to  flight,  and  assumed 
sole  charge,  basing  her  right  upon  a  mythical  friend 
ship  which  had  existed  nowhere  but  in  her  own  im 
agination.  Talbot  was  then  BO  low  that  both  the 
Italian  and  the  English  doctor  thought  his  chances  of 
recovery  scarcely  worth  considering.  It  was  an  acute 
case  of  Roman  fever,  they  said,  contracted  by  the 
usual  imprudence  of  Americans.  Sir  Percy,  who  had 
grown  very  fond  of  the  young  man,  walked  about  the 
house  like  an  uneasy  ghost,  scolded  the  servants,  poked 
the  fire  vindictively,  found  his  tea,  his  beefsteak,  and 
his  wines  abominable,  and  exhibited  other  symptoms 
of  distress.  He  could  have  embraced  Delia  when  she 
came  like  an  impudent  angel  and  relieved  him  of  all 
responsibility.  She  knew  exactly  the  right  thing  to 
do,  and  seemed  to  bristle  all  over  with  competence. 
Her  very  presence  in  the  sick-room  seemed  to  charge 
the  air  with  an  invigorating  quality  which  communi 
cated  itself  to  the  invalid.  Though  he  had  no  senti 
mental  regard  for  her  whatever,  he  was  inclined  to 
attribute  a  healing  virtue  to  her  touch.  Her  cool, 
soft  hand  upon  his  forehead  felt  inexpressibly  grateful, 
and  tho  brisk  and  efficient  way  in  which  she  performed 
all  tho  little  offices  for  his  comfort  made  him  do  pen 
ance  in  his  heart  foi^  his  past  conduct  toward  her.  He 
dimly  apprehended  (as  soon  as  his  consciousness  reas 
serted  itself)  that  his  recovery  was  a  question  of  nurs 
ing  rather  than  of  'medicine ;  and  he  knew,  too,  that 
the  Italian  nurse,  who  had  slept  peacefully  through 
the  night  after  having  commended  him  to  the  protec 
tion  of  all  the  saints,  had  thrown  his  clothes  upon  the 
bed,  in  anticipation  of  his  death,  because,  according  to 
Italian  custom,  whatever  is  found  upon  the  bed  at  the 


A  SISTER  OF  CHARITY.  2G9 

time  of  the  demise  is  given  to  the  nurse.  It  was  not 
pleasant  to  feel  one's  life  ebbing  away  among  such 
harpies,  and  the  mere  sense  of  security  inspired  by  a 
familiar  face  and  a  familiar  voice  was  a  more  powerful 
restorative  than  all  the  drugs  in  the  materia  medica. 

It  was  odd  that  none  of  those  who  knew  the  Fair 
Pagan  attributed  her  invasion  of  the  Palazzo  Altemps 
to  a  desire  to  fascinate  Sir  Percy.  It  seemed  incon 
ceivable  that  a  young  lady  who  found  her  chief  amuse 
ment  in  shocking  people,  and  who  never  made  the 
faintest  concession  to  the  world's  prejudices,  should  be 
setting  her  cap  for  anybody.  Even  Mrs.  Douglas,  who 
was  not  given  to  be  lenient  in  her  judgments,  could 
find  nothing  worse  to  say  than  that  it  was  the  alluring 
impropriety  of  the  thing  which  had  fascinated  her. 
To  descend,  uninvited,  upon  two  unprotected  gentle 
men,  take  full  charge  of  their  affairs,  and  rule  them 
with  a  rod  of  iron — it  was  just  the  sort  of  thing  which 
would  appeal  to  her  lawless  and  erratic  fancy.  It  was 
a  practical  demonstration  of  woman's  superiority  which 
no  man  in  his  sound  senses  could  deny. 

What  Sir  Percy's  sentiments  were  on  the  subject 
no  one  had  the  courage  to  ascertain,  as  ho  had  taken 
care  to  drop  some  remarks  which  made  it  unsafe 
henceforth  to  speak  lightly  of  Miss  Saunders  in  his 
presence.  He  treated  her  with  the  most  delicate  con 
sideration  while  she  remained  under  his  roof,  and 
would  have  offered  her  a  permanent  abode  there,  with 
all  the  privileges  and  immunities  that  thereunto  ap 
pertained,  if  the  occasion  had  not  seemed  a  trifle"  in 
appropriate.  The  bed  in  which  the  patient  lay  was  a 
great  mediaeval  affair  of  carved  oak,  with  Adam  and 
Eve  and  the  Serpent  in  bold  relief,  and  a  canopy  with 


270       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

heavy  drapery  overhead,  It  wtood  in  tha  middle  of 
the  floor  on  a  raised  dais,  like  a  royal  couch,  and  had 
two  steps  leading  np  to  it  Sir  Percy  liked  to  sit  on 
one  side  of  it  and  watch  Delia's  plump  and  cheerful 
face,  illuminated  by  the  lamp,  and  her  fearless  blue 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  challenge  creation  in  general. 
He  had  never  enjoyed  such  familiar  companionship 
with  a  woman  before,  and  had  never  suspected  that 
such  funds  of  sentiment  were  stowed  away  in  the  out- 
of-the-way  nooks  and  corners  of  his  soul.  He  had 
been  disposed  to  look  upon  himself  as  a  constitutional 
bachelor — one  of  nature's  bachelors,  as  he  was  fond  of 
saying — and  had  contracted  all  the  habits  and  eccen 
tricities  which  belong  to  that  unsatisfactory  estate. 
The  only  sentimental  episode  in  his  life  had  been  his 
worship  of  Constance  Douglas,  who  had  been  unkind 
enough  to  refuse  him.  But  it  appeared  to  him  now 
that  he  had  never  really  loved  Constance.  He  had  a 
boundless  admiration  for  her,  a  worshipful  loyalty  and 
enthusiasm,  but  scarcely  any  tenderness.  She  always 
dwelt,  like  Saint  Simon  Stylites,  on  the  top  of  a  lofty 
pedestal,  and  allowed  no  one  to  come  close  enough  to 
her  to  feel  the  warm  touch  of  human  sympathy  and 
love.  He  concluded  that  a  less  statuesque  bride  might 
bring  him  more  happiness,  and  with  every  day  that 
went  he  became  more  convinced  that  Delia  Saunders, 
if  she  could  be  induced  to  exchange  her  deplorable 
name  for  that  of  Lady  Armitage,  might  make  a  very 
acceptable  English  gentlewoman.  He  had  the  deli 
cacy,  however,  not  to  give  Delia  any  direct  hint  of  the 
thoughts  which  agitated  him  while  she  was  his  guest? 
but  was  content  to  make  himself  preternaturally  agree 
able,  hoping  that  she  might  draw  her  inferences.  It 


A  SISTER  OF  CHARITY.  271 

is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  Delia  did  have  her  suspicions 
as  to  the  motive  of  Sir  Percy's  amiability ;  but,  if  such 
was  the  case,  they  in  no  wise  influenced  her  conduct 
She  was  as  cheerfully  combative  as  ever,  and  asserted 
her  heretical  opinions  with  a  courageous  disregard  of 
their  effect  upon  her  interlocutor. 

44 1  must  lead  my  own  life,"  was  the  refrain  of  all 
her  conversation :  44 1  can  not,  without  loss  of  self- 
respect  and  injury  to  my  character,  lead  your  life  or 
anybody  else's  life.  I  am  Delia  Saunders,  and  when 
John  Smith  comes  to  me  and  asks  mo  to  be  Delia 
Smith,  I  answer,  4  No,  thanks,  John,  not  unless  you 
choose  to  be  John  Saunders.  Exchange  is  no  robbery. 
If  it  is  a  mutual  compact  we  are  making,  and  you  in 
sist  upon  my  giving  up  my  name  and  taking  yours,  I 
want  you  to  do  as  much  for  me.'  That's  what  John 
doesn't  like,  and  off  he  goes  in  a  huff  and  marries  a 
little  meek  nobody,  who  has  no  individuality  to  give 
up,  and  whose  charming  little  soft  and  dimpled  noth 
ingness  is  contentedly  absorbed  in  his  life  and  sacri 
ficed  to  his  pleasures.  That  is  the  scheme  of  creation, 
Sir  Percy,  and  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  don't 
approve  of  it.  You  know,  though  I  was  born  in  In 
diana,  I  am  a  very  considerable  somebody,  and  am  de 
termined,  first  of  all,  to  be  fully  myself.  I  am  a  very 
positive  bundle  of  qualities,  some  of  which  might 
prove  an  unpleasant  discovery  to  the  man  who  had 
the  boldness  to  marry  me,  when,  the  day  after  the 
wedding,  I  untied  my  bundle  and  began  to  exhibit 
them,  one  by  one." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Sir  Percy  found  this  dis 
course  extremely  amusing,  and  in  the  depths  of  his 
masculine  self -confidence  vowed  that,  if  she  gave  him 


2T2       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

the  chance,  he  would  teach  her  better  things.  He  had 
an  idea  that 'Delia's  convictions  sat  very  lightly  upon 
her  and  were  held  partly  for  their  picturesqueness.  A 
firm  masculine  hand  (such  as  he  prided  himself  on 
possessing)  could,  as  he  imagined,  easily  weed  them 
out.  She  was  a  woman,  after  all,  however  much  she 
appeared  to  protest  against  the  fact,  and  in  all  funda 
mental  qualities  was  not  different  from  the  rest  of  her 
sex.  The  longer  he  gazed  at  her  fresh  and  altogether 
girlish  face,  whose  beauty  was  heightened  by  the  sub 
dued  light  of  the  sick-room,  the  more  he  was  disposed 
to  overlook  the  unpalatable  circumstances  in  her  career 
and  emphasize  the  essential  human  traits  to  which 
there  could  be  no  objection.  He  could  not  deny  that 
the  emancipation  waist  and  her  lecturing  for  temper 
ance  did  not  please  him ;  but  what  was  the  advantage, 
after  all,  in  having  an  exalted  position  and  a  superior 
intellect,  if  they  did  not  raise  him  above  the  vulgar 
prejudices  which  dominated  the  mob  ?  He  had,  as  he 
well  knew,  a  reputation  for  eccentricity.  People 
rather  expected  him  to  do  odd  things,  and  if  he  sur 
prised  them  by  an  odd  marriage  they  would  accept  it 
as  a  confirmation  of  their  own  judgment  of  him  and 
as  an  evidence  of  his  consistency. 

It  was  a  severe  blow  to  Sir  Percy  when  Talbot  be 
gan  to  mend  so  rapidly  as  to  furnish  no  further  excuse 
for  the  presence  of  his  entertaining  nurse.  She  was 
herself  the  first  to  perceive  that  the  situation  no  longer 
warranted  her  in  remaining,  and  no  persuasions  could 
induce  her  to  change  her  mind.  Neither  Talbot's 
prayers  nor  Sir  Percy's  arguments  were  of  the  slight 
est  avail.  She  donned  one  of  her  rakish  hats  with 
smiling  composure,  fixed  it  at  the  right  angle  before 


LIFE'S  FLORESCENCE.  278 

tho  mirror,  patted  Talbot  on  the  head  as  if  he  were  a 
little  hoy,  and  slapped  Sir  Percy  lightly  with  her  glove 
when  ho  ventured  to  compliment  her  on  her  appear 
ance.  There  was  nothing  for  the  latter  to  do  but  to 
order  his  carriage  and  to  accompany  her  in  state  to 
her  lodgings  on  tho  Piazzi  di  Spagna.  Talbot  wept  a 
few  furtive  tears  when  she  was  gone,  only  to  give  vent 
to  his  feeling  of  desolation  and  general  wretchedness. 
When  he  tried  to  lift  his  hand  to  his  face  it  felt  large, 
clumsy,  and  heavy  as  lead.  lie  took  a  few  tentative 
steps  about  the  room,  with  the  assistance  of  Watkins, 
but  the  soles  of  his  feet  seemed  full  of  tiny  needles, 
which  pricked  and  tickled  him,  and  his  knees  were  so 
weak  that  they  knocked  against  each  other  like  those 
of  a  new-born  calf.  Having  finished  this  hazardous 
journey,  ho  begged  Watkins,  in  a  hushed  and  tremu 
lous  voice,  to  bring  him  the  portrait  of  Miss  Douglas 
which  stood  on  the  table  in  Sir  Percy's  library.  It 
was  touching  to  see  how  his  emaciated  features  lighted 
up  at  the  sight  of  the  beautiful  face,  and  how,  like  a 
Brahmin  lost  in  divine  contemplation,  he  drifted  away 
in  blissful  reverie  from  the  consciousness  of  all  earthly 
sin,  and  care,  and  sorrow.  Unresentingly,  uncomplain 
ingly,  he  resumed  his  worship  of  the  goddess  who  had 
undone  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

LIFE'S    FLORESCENCE. 

THE  tramontane  had  been  blowing  steadily  for  a 
month,  and  there  were  health  and  vigor  in  its  breath. 
18 


274       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

Tho  spring  slipped  away  like  a  pleasant  tale  that  is 
told.  The  bright  sunshine  poured  down  in  divine 
profusion  from  the  sky.  The  deep  azure  canopy  of 
the  heavens  was  fringed  at  dawn  with  a  pale  rose  and 
at  evening  with  a  pale  saffron  edge.  It  seemed  as  if 
no  sorrow  could  endure  the  gaze  of  that  clear,  un- 
dimmed  sun,  as  if  no  heart  could  be  heavy  where  the 
earth  and  the  sky  united  in  an  irresistible  invitation 
to  be  gay.  And  yet  there  was  misery  in  the  Eternal 
City,  and  doubly  acute  for  its  contrast  with  Nature's 
smiling  countenance.  Talbot,  after  he  had  recovered 
sufficient  strength  to  resume  his  interest  in  life,  went 
about  with  a  dull  heart-ache,  wondering  how  the  world 
could  revolve  so  gayly  and  the  sun  shine  so  blithely 
while  he  was  so  drearily  wretched.  The  Count  de 
Saint-Reault,  too,  had  acquired  a  lugubrious  mien  of 
late,  and  there  were  those  who  asserted  that  his  wooing 
no  longer  went  as  smoothly  as  before.  However  that 
may  have  been,  it  was  undeniable  that  he  no  longer 
cruised  as  breezily  along,  with  all  his  sails  to  the  wind, 
as  in  the  early  part  of  the  winter,  and  there  was  less 
rattle  and  clicking  of  metal  and  creaking  of  leather 
when  he  entered  a  drawing-room.  The  scabbard  of 
his  sword  knocked  less  recklessly  against  the  furni 
ture,  the  jingle  of  his  spurs  sounded  less  aggressive, 
and  even  his  well- waxed  mustache  had  lost  its  beauti 
ful  needle-points  and  drooped  in  a  dispirited  fashion. 
It  was  by  no  means  the  count's  intention  to  advertise 
his  reverses,  but  he  was  so  constituted  that  he  could 
not  keep  up  the  luster  of  his  outward  magnificence 
unless  he  felt  the  inward  stimulus  of  success.  He  had 
always  been  the  spoiled  child  of  Fortune — had  always 
basked  in  the  rays  of  prosperity  and  general  admira- 


LIFE'S  FLORESCENCE.  275 

tion.  And  now  to  think  that  tho  lady  whom  he  had 
honored  with  his  homage  could  in  pure  wantonness 
maltreat  him,  preferring  to  his  company  that  of  a 
commonplace  American !  He  had  a  suspicion  that 
Grantley  was  in  some  way  responsible  for  his  ill  luck, 
and  he  burned  to  avenge  himself  on  that  "  accursed 
cure"  as  ho  called  him.  But  that  Constance,  even  if 
she  had  been  informed  of  his  liaison,  could  be  imbued 
with  "  those  petty  bourgeois  notions  of  morality " 
seemed,  after  all,  incomprehensible.  Yet  he  could 
hardly  escape  this  conclusion,  for  he  now  had  an  ex 
perience  which,  two  months  ago,  he  would  have  de 
clared  to  be  simply  impossible.  He  had  presented  him 
self  three  times  in  the  same  week  at  the  Douglas  apart 
ment,  and  each  time  been  told  that  Miss  Douglas  was 
not  at  home,  although  he  had  watched  the  house  for 
hours  and  seen  her  enter  without  again  departing. 
He  had  seen  the  odious  Burroughs  ascend  and  descend 
the  broad  stone  staircase  and  remain  for  hours  within 
the  shelter  of  those  walls  which  he  st«ove  in  vain  to 
penetrate.  And  what  was  far  worse,  he  noted,  with  a 
Frenchman's  eye  for  detail,  how  his  rival  seemed  to  be 
expanding  into  a  fuller  bloom  of  health  and  joy.  He 
walked  with  a  happy  unconsciousness  of  the  soil.  A 
deep  satisfaction  radiated  from  his  features.  Tho 
world  was  bright  and  fair.  God  dwelt  at  the  roots 
of  things  and  guided  his  creation  aright.  The  count 
flushed  with  anger  and  mortification  at  the  sight  of 
such  beatitude.  It  seemed  a  robbery  from  himself; 
and  he  itched  to  do  the  robber  bodily  harm. 

It  was  one  afternoon,  toward  the  middle  of  May, 
when  the  world  was  deluged  with  flowers,  that  Julian 
was  with  a  loudly-beating  heart  mounting  the  staircase 


276       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

of  the  Palazzo  Barberini.  Though  it  was  the  twen 
tieth  time,  at  the  very  least,  that  he  pulled  the  brass- 
handled,  embroidered  bell-cord,  his  pulses  bounded 
like  those  of  a  lover  stealing  to  the  secret  rendezvous. 
The  door  was  opened  by  the  chambermaid,  Ilortonso, 
whoso  good-will  ho  had  bought  by  liberal  douceurs. 
She  smiled  straight  into  his  face  with  a  sly  significance, 
which  told  him  that  he  need  not  trouble  himself  to 
year  a  mask  in  her  presence.  He  would,  under  ordi 
nary  circumstances,  have  resented  suc.h  familiarity; 
but  his  happiness  made  him  lenient  toward  all  the 
world,  and  a  community  of  experience,  in  this  enchant 
ing  chapter,  makes  all  flesh  akin. 

In  the  inner  drawing-room — a  large,  high-ceiled 
apartment,  whose  palatial  bareness  was  relieved  by 
an  abundance  of  bric-a-brac,  and  some  cracked  and 
smoky  canvases  in  tarnished  frames — he  found  Con- 
Htanco  awaiting  him.  As  she  advanced  toward  him 
with  her  sweet  face,  and  her  stately  form,  and  all  her 
rustling  drapery,  his  nerves  tingled  anew  with  the 
sense  of  her  lovelinesss.  How  rare,  how  noble,  how 
wonderful  she  was  1 

"  Julian,"  she  Bivid,  looking  up  at  him  with  gentle 
roprouoh, "  I  have  waited  for  you  u  whole  hour.  Where 
have  you  been  ?  "  j 

" 1  am  sorry  you  have  waited  for  me,  dearest,"  he 
answered,  seizing  both  her  hands,  and  drawing  her  up 
to  him ;  "  I  have  just  packed  Grantley  off  to  England. 
The  train  left  fifteen  minutes  ago." 

"You'll  miss  him  very  much,  won't  you?"  she 
queried,  with  eyes  that  implored  a  negative  reply.  For 
she  was  dimly  jealous  of  everybody  who  had  a  high 
place  in  his  regard. 


LIFE'S  FLORESCENCE.  377 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  accommodatingly.  "  I 
could  never  miss  any  one  as  long  as  I  have  you.  Be 
sides  I  have  made  arrangements  with  Grantley  that  he 
is  to  come  to  New  York.  I  have  finally  persuaded 
him  that  ho  can  do  more  good  there  than  anywhere 
else.  I'll  build  him  a  church,  if  necessary ;  and  it  can 
never  fail  that  he'll  be  a  great  success  there." 

lie  had  not  spoken  in  a  boastful  spirit ;  but  the 
magnificence  of  his  proposal,  perhaps,  on  this  very 
account,  impressed  her.  It  seemed  a  fine  thing  to 
have  a  lover  who  could  speak  of  building  churches 
with  such  grand  nonchalance. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  care  more  for  him  than  you  do  for 
me,"  she  declared,  with  a  vaguely  troujbled  air,  as  sho 
seated  herself  at  his  side  on  the  sofa. 

44  Oh,  my  sweetest  girl,  how  can  you  talk  so  fool 
ishly,"  he  cried,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  fear,  Julian,"  she  began,  after  a  reflective  pause, 
44 1  shall  torment  you  horribly  by  my  jealousy.  I  am 
sometimes  myself  frightened  at  a  certain  wild  imperi- 
ousness  in  my  love  for  you.  I  could  endure  no  one, 
man  or  woman,  to  share  your  love  with  me ;  I  could 
endure  none  second  to  mo,  scarcely  any  one  third." 

No  lover  was  ever  troubled  by  this  kind  of  confes 
sion,  and  Julian  laughed  again,  with  a  happy  uncon 
cern,  and  kissed  the  hand  he  held  in  his  own*  "  You 
stand  alone,  and  incomparable,"  he  ejaculated,  gayly ; 
44  beside  you,  no  one  else  has  any  existence.  I  see, 
I  hear,  I  feel  no  one  but  you.  You  pervade  the  air  I 
breathe,  and  you  fill  my  soul  like  a  rapturous  intoxi 
cation." 

Her  eyes  grew  lustrous,  and  hung  on  his  face  while 
he  spoke  with  tender  brightness. 


273       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  I  Imvo  boon  walking  in  the  sun,"  ho  remarked, 
after  a  while,  **  I  fool  doliciouBly  weary." 

"Let  me  order  you  some  lemonade," sho Baid.  ** Or 
do  you  want  claret?  " 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself." 

But  she  had  risen  already  and  rung  the  boll.  Ilor- 
tonBo  appeared,  received  the  order,  dropped  her  courte 
sy,  and  departed. 

Constance  and  her  lover  sat  for  a  while  in  silence, 
awaiting  her  return.  There  was  something  worm, 
softly  caressing,  and  yet  subtly  stimulating  in  the  air 
that  blow  in  at  the  window.  They  breathed  more 
deeply,  and  thero  was  a  vaguo  oppression  in  tho  fra 
grance,  and  a  misty  veil  of  indistinctness  fell  upon 
their  thoughts.  When  Hortenso  made  her  entrance 
with  the  claret,  Constance  arose  quietly,  took  tho  de- 
cantor,  and  poured  out  a  glass  for  Julian.  He  drank 
it,  thanked  her,  and  jumping  up  paced  tho  length  of 
the  floor.  She  crossed  over  to  the  other  side  of  tho 
room  and  seated  herself  upon  a  lounge  between  tho 
two  windows.  The  breeze  blow  a  loose  lock  of  hair 
aoroBa  her  forehead,  and  tho  BiuiHhino  falling  upon  her 
hand  as  he  raised  it,  showed  her  fingers  in  rosy  trans- 
lucenco.  She  lapsed  into  an  exquisite  languor;  her 
eyes  seemed  fixed!  on  vacancy;  but  her  face  was 
bright  and  sweet,  and  its  beauty  shone  with  a  soft 
splendor.  Julian  was  still  pacing  the  floor.  Suddenly 
he  paused  in  front  of  her,  flung  himself  down  at  her 
side,  clasping  her  in  his  arms,  cried :  "  Oh,  Constance, 
Constance,  how  adorable  you  are ! " 

She  yielded  to  his  embrace  almost  passively,  smil 
ing  at  him  with  largo,  moist  eyes,  and  heaving  a  long, 
ecstatic,  sigh. 


LIFE'S  FLORESCENCE.  279 

"  Speak  to  mo,  speak  to  mo,"  she  whispered ;  a  tell 
mo  that  you  love  me." 

He  opened  his  lips  as  if  to  speak ;  but  said  nothing. 
Her  head  sank  upon  his  shoulder,  and  he  felt  her  hair 
graze  his  cheek.  It  seemed  BO  wonderful ;  so  wildly 
and  utterly  inconceivable.  Those  great  bright  coils  of 
blonde  hair  with  the  burnished  sheen  in  them — to 
have  them  so  close;  to  inhale  their  perfume — it  in 
vested  his  life  with  a  new  and  joyous  dignity.  And 
that  neck,  how  touchingly  feminine  it  was  with  its 
white  slenderness,  and  the  deep  groove  under  the  occi 
put,  where  the  hair  grew  in  capricious  little  glistening 
curls.  How  could  life  ever  lapse  into  its  former  insig 
nificance  after  a  moment  like  this  ? 

I  do  not  know  how  long  they  sat  thus  silently  lost 
in  joyous  contemplation  of  each  other.  There  was  a 
glad  confiding  affection  in  her  glance  which  aroused  a 
host  of  good  resolves  in  his  heart  Ho  would  dignify 
this  love  of  his  by  making  it  an  inspiration  for  civic 
usefulness  for  philanthropy  and  good  works.  He 
would  rise  by  means  of  this  love  to  the  full  stature  of 
his  manhood.  He  would  never  again  lapse  into  his 
former  ignoble  ease  ;  he  would  never  live  for  the  sor 
did  gratification  of  the  senses.  He  would  lift  this 
glorious  woman  into  the  new  sphere  of  his  thought ; 
share  with  her  his  aspirations  and  ideals;  bear  her 
tenderly  upon  loving  hands  through  life ;  and  rise  to 
something  great — he  did  not  know  what — by  the  noble 
stimulus  of  her  companionship.  Ho  seemed  so  mighty, 
so  powerful  in  this  moment.  His  soul  had  burst  into 
splendid  bloom.  His  life  had  reached  its  flood-tide. 
He  had  never  before  been  so  intensely  conscious  of 
living.  How  could  he  doubt  that  he  could  bend  her 


280       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

thoughts  and  aspirations  into  the  same  channel  as  his 
own?  The  future  seemed  so  bright,  so  alluring ;  no 
cloud  obscured  the  horizon  ;  everywhere  long  shining 
vistas,  full  of  light  and  color. 

An  hour  later,  when  the  sun  had  dipped  behind  the 
cupola  of  St.  Peter's,  Julian  emerged  from  the  vesti 
bule  of  the  third  floor  of  the  Palazzo  Barberini,  happy 
and  radiant,  like  a  young  god.  His  eyes  sparkled,  and 
he  held  his  head  high,  as  if  he  felt  the  pressure  of  an 
invisible  crown.  There  was  buoyancy  in  his  stride,  and 
he  struck  his  heels  against  the  marble  stairs  with  a 
vigor  which  betrayed  zest  -in  existence. 

"  Such  an  hour 

When  the  shriveled  life-gerins  burst  into  flower, 
Compensates  in  a  breath 
For  the  cbill  and  the  darkness  of  death.** 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

AN  EMBARRASSING  CONSCIENCE. 

JULIAN  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a  sense  of 
oppression  which  was,  perhaps,  the  natural  reaction 
from  the  beatitude  of  the  previous  day.  Any  approxi 
mation  to  the  supremo  moment  to  which  we  would 
say :  "  Stay,  thou  art  fair,"  is  apt  to  be  followed  by 
hours  which  we  would  fain  bid  depart.  A  thought 
which  he  strove  to  drive  away  kept  continually  recur 
ring  to  him.  If  Constance  knew  him  as  he  actually 
was— if  she  knew  a  certain  regrettable  chapter  in  his 
past — would  she  then  love  him  ?  Was  it  not  Cramp- 


AN  EMBARRASSING  CONSCIENCE.  281 

ton's  idealized  portrait  of  him,  rather  than  his  actual 
self,  which  she  loved  ?  She  had  indeed,  herself,  con 
fessed  that  she  loved  him  before  she  saw  him ;  and 
when  she  saw  him  his  apparent  indifference  was  all 
that  was  needed  to  complete  his  conquest  He  had  to 
live  down  this  fictitious  heroic  character,  before  he 
could  be  sure  that  he  possessed  her  love.  But  that 
was  a  most  dangerous  experiment,  and  might  result 
disastrously.  Nevertheless  it  was,  on  that  account, 
not  to  be  shirked.  It  was  his  plain  duty  to  unmask 
himself,  if  consciously  or  unconsciously  he  wore  a 
mask.  If  his  Christianity  meant  anything,  it  meant 
absolute  truthfulness  and  scorn  of  disguises. 

After  having  listlessly  completed  his  toilet,  he 
ordered  his  breakfast  in  his  sitting-room,  but  was  un 
able  to  eat.  He  drank  a  cup  of  coffee  which  scalded 
his  tongue,  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  floor, 
catching  glimpses  every  now  and  then  of  his  troubled 
face  in  the  long  mirrors.  He  strove  to  persuade  him 
self  that  this  superfine  sense  of  duty  was  quixotio 
and  fantastic — a  more  passing,  morbid  whim.  He 
tried  to  assert  the  world's  common  sense  view  which 
Bcouted  and  ridiculed  such  ethereal  obligations.  But 
for  all  that  his  newly  awakened  conscience  refused  to 
be  quieted.  She  must  marry  him  with  her  eyes  wide 
open,  knowing  what  he  was  and  what  he  had  been. 
But  was  he  equal  to  accepting  the  fate  of  Count  de 
Saint-Reault,  whom  once  she  had  favored  and  obvi 
ously  dismissed  for  a  similar  reason  ?  For,  though 
Grantly  had  never  alluded  to  the  subject  in  his  pres 
ence,  Julian  had  incontrovertible  evidence  that  Con 
stance  knew  of  the  count's  adventure  with  Gabriella. 
And  her  present  aversion  for  him  had  evidently  no 


282       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

other  cause.  Now,  had  he,  Julian,  who  scarcely  was 
less  guilty,  the  courage  to  court  a  similar  disaster? 
He  pondered  the  painful  problem,  weighed  the  pros 
and  cons,  but  could  arrive  at  no  decision.  When  she 
trustfully  placed  her  fate  in  his  hand,  granting  him 
the  intoxicating  privileges  which  were  to  dignify,  en 
rich,  and  ennoble  his  life,  would  it  not  be  peculiarly 
base  on  his  part  to  take  advantage  of  her  innocent 
faith  in  him,  and  knowingly  deceive  her?  The  fact 
that  such  deception  is  commonly  practiced  did  not 
give  the  matter  a  better  look ;  and  after  a  long  and 
bitter  struggle  Julian  resolved  to  make  a  frank  con 
fession  to  Constance,  and  if  necessary  bear  the  conse 
quences  of  his  follies.  But  in  the  depth  of  his 
heart  ho  hoped,  nay  ho  believed,  that  eho  loved  him 
enough  to  pardon  his  past. 

Ho  did  not  delude  himself  as  to  the  difficulties 
which  this  confession  presented,  and  twenty  times,  at 
least,  he  depicted  to  himself  the  scene  with  all  its 
embarrassing  possibilities.  How  he  would  act  in  this 
caso  or  in  that,  and  what  he  would  say,  was  mentally 
debuted.  Half  a  dozen  times  he  walked  to  the  gate  of 
the  Palazzo  Barberini  before  he  found  courage  to  en 
ter.  It  was  then  about  eleven  o'clock ;  and  the  sun 
was  high  in  the  heavens.  He  was  met  by  Constance 
with  an  affection  |that  was  frank  and  warm  like  the 
sunshine  itself.  There  was  a  sense  of  sweet  pro 
prietorship — of  exclusive  possession— in  the  way  she 
put  hor  iirmfj  about  1m  nock,  and  givzod  at  him,  and 
clung  to  him,  and  smiled  at  him  with  undisguised 
fondness.  Nay  her  lips,  with  their  soft,  dewy  curves, 
turned  so  temptingly  toward  him — how  could  he  resist 
their  enchanting  invitation  ?  What  absorbed  him  and 


AN  EMBARRASSING  CONSCIENCE.  283 

filled  him  with  an  exquisite  tenderness  was — what  shall 
I  call  it — the  touching  suggestion  of  infancy,  which 
clings  to  a  lovely  woman  during  the  first  hour  after 
awakening.  Constance  had  the  peculiarity  that  she 
waked  up  gradually  from  the  time  of  rising  until  aa 
hour  after  breakfast  The  mists  of  slumber  lingered 
in  her  eyes  with  a  dewy  brightness  which  was  ador-  . 
able. 

Julian's  determination  resolved  itself  into  the  most 
intangible  vapors  in  the  presence  of  a  happiness  so 
overwhelming.  He  sat  silently  gazing  at  Constance, 
while  the  blood  throbbed  in  his  temples  and  he  strovo 
faintly  to  gather  his  faculties.  She  scarcely  appeared 
to  notice  his  preoccupation,  or  found  it  perhaps  quito 
natural.  She  talked  tender  nonsense  to  him,  coaxed 
him  to  smile,  twirled  his  mustache,  made  experiments 
with  his  hair,  to  all  of  which  he  submitted  with  a 
sense  of  guilt  which  no  blandishments  could  banish. 
She  accepted  readily  his  proposition  to  take  a  walk ; 
and  when  she  left  the  room  to  change  her  costume,  he 
had  an  opportunity  to  curse  his  weakness,  and  to  try  to 
prop  up  his  tottering  resolution. 

When  she  reappeared,  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour, 
she  was  arrayed  in  a  buff  walking-dress,  simple  in  de 
sign,  but  quietly  effective  and  a  marvel  of  taste  and  fit. 
There  was  an  immaculate  freshness  and  distinction  in 
all  her  belongings  which  appeared  to  him  miraculous. 
The  sunlight  poured  down  pitilessly.  They  lingered 
in  the  grateful  coolness  of  the  corridor,  reluctant  to 
plunge  into  the  dazzling  glare. 

"We  ought  to  have  started  earlier,"  said  Con 
stance,  opening  her  parasol ;  "  there  is  actually  a  sort 
of  fierce  simmer  in  the  heat." 


284:       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

"  111  order  a  carriage,  if  you  prefer  it" 

"  Oh,  no,  that  would  be  no  walk.  We  can  keep  on 
the  shady  side  of  the  street.  But  the  season  has 
changed  in  a  night.  Yesterday,  there  was  yet  spring 
in  the  air.  To-day  it  is  full  summer." 

*'  Yes,  yesterday  it  was  spring,"  he  repeated  pen 
sively,  as  they  emerged  from  the  great  gateway  and 
traversed  the  court-yard,  flooded  with  sunlight. 

They  walked  along  in  the  shade  for  half  a  dozen 
blocks ;  but  the  buildings  opposite,  baked  by  the  sun, 
radiated  an  oppressive  heat,  and  Constance,  who  was 
sensitive  to  the  least  discomfort,  paused  repeatedly, 
and  looked  appeal i ugly  at  her  companion. 

"  I  wish  we  had  not  been  so  rash,"  she  said. 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  church,  there,"  he  proposed, 
"  the  Santa  Maria  Maggiore.  It  is  sure  to  be  cool 
there." 

"But  that  terrible  length  of  stairs,  Julian.  It 
seems  a  risky  undertaking." 

"  Take  my  arm.     We'll  risk  it  together." 

She  shielded  him  with  her  parasol  as  they  mounted 
to  the  entrance  of  the  church,  which  was  covered 
by  a  leather  mattress.  The  cool  twilight  within  was 
most  grateful.  A  multitude  of  tapers  burned  about 
the  high  altar,  gleaming  like  isolated  points  of  bright 
ness  in  the  solemn  dusk ;  and  the  sun  sent  shafts  of 
jasper,  sapphire^  and  ruby  radiance  through  the  great 
rose  window.  Big,  glowing  drops  of  blood-red  light 
trembled  upon  the  walls,  and  brought  illusive  blushes 
to  the  cheeks  of  the  emaciated  martyrs.  Priests  and 
acolytes  in  embroidered  garments  flitted  to  and  fro; 
making  preparations  for  a  service  that  was  about  to 
begin.  The  air  vibrated  with  the  deep,  but  subdued 


AN  EMBARRASSING  CONSCIENCE.          285 

tones  of  the  organ,  which  sounded  like  the  distant 
mutterings  of  the  wrath  to  come. 

The  august  splendor  and  dignity  of  the  church 
made  a  profound  impression  upon  Julian.  All  doubt 
and  hesitation  vanished  from  his  soul ;  and  he  felt  the 
strength  within  him  to  act  in  accordance  with  the  dic 
tates  of  his  conscience.  He  had  a  sensation  as  if  a 
shield  had  been  lifted  above  his  head — as  if  he  had 
stepped  into  the  shadow  of  the  Almighty's  wings. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  incense,  and  the  music,  with 
its  solemn  monotony,  tuned  him  up  a  full  octave 
above  his  everyday  self.  It  had  the  same  effect  as  one 
of  Grantley's  talks,  which  chased  all  petty  considera 
tions  and  mundane  fears  out  of  sight,  and  awakened 
aspirations  for  a  nobler  and  worthier  existence.  And 
by  some  strange  jugglery  of  his  fancy,  Constance  un 
derwent  a  transformation.  She  became  again  Circe, 
the  pagan  enchantress,  whose  alluring  and  dangerous 
charm  dragged  him  down  into  the  life  of  the  senses, 
whose  sweet  siren  voice,  ringing  beguilingly  in  his  ears, 
lulled  him  into  a  pleasant  languor,  and  made  his  spir 
itual  struggles  and  yearnings  seem  foolish  and  futile. 
Such  a  bright  and  lovely  daylight  creature,  accustomed 
to  flattery  and  homage  from  her  earliest  years,  kept  in 
studious  ignorance  of  all  that  was  unpleasant — how 
could  she  ever  have  learned  that  life  has  a  sterner 
side  ?  How  could  the  depths  of  her  nature  ever  have 
been  stirred,  even  granting  there  were  depths  to  stir  ? 

**  I  like  to  walk  with  you,  Julian,"  she  said,  cling 
ing  to  his  arm,  unconscious  of  the  disloyal  thoughts 
that  were  flitting  through  his  brain  ;  "  it  seems  so  nice 
to  be  alone  with  you — you  and  I  only,  and  no  one 
else," 


286       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  such  a  ravishing  smile, 
that,  though  he  was  troubled  at  heart,  he  could  not 
help  responding  to  it. 

"  I  like  to  walk  with  you,  too,  Constance,"  ho 
said ;  "  I  like  to  drift  through  the  world  with  you,  not 
knowing  where  we  are  going." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  mean,"  she  answered,  with 
a  glance  in  which  there  was  a  little  questioning  ghost 
of  seriousness ;  "  things  look  so  different  when  I  look 
at  them  with  you.  I  have  been  in  this  church  a  hun 
dred  times ;  but  I  never  discovered  how  beautiful  it  is 
until  to-day." 

They  sauntered  leisurely  through  the  monumental 
pomp  of  marble  tombs  and  porphyry  columns,  and 
found  themselves  by  chance  in  the  gorgeous  Sistine 
Chapel.*  The  mass  was  now  being  celebrated  before 
the  nigh  altar ;  but  under  the  vast  dome  of  the  church 
the  chorus  of  angelic  boy  voices  with  the  deep  organ 
accompaniment  was  scarcely  more  than  a  melodious 
murmur,  a  softly  surging  sound,  which  rose  and  fell 
rhythmically  upon  the  air,  and  moved  the  heart  and 
was  silent.  Julian  felt  a  sadden  moisture  in  his  eyes, 
as  he  stood  and  listened.  He  looked  at  Constance,  but 
she  only  smiled,  as  she  always  did,  when  her  eyes  met 
his ;  but  seemed  wholly  unmoved. 

"  I  am  a  little  tired,"  she  said,  "  let  us  sit  down." 

She  released  his  arm,  and  seated  herself  on  the 
steps  of  the  Pope  Sixtus's  tomb.  On  the  wall  vis-a-vis 
hung  Ribera's  great  picture  of  St.  Jerome  beating  his 
poor  withered  breast  with  a  stone. 


*  Tho  Sistine  Chapel  in  the  Santa  Maria  Maggiore,  not  the 
Sbtino  Chapel  in  the  Vatican, 


AN  EMBARRASSING  CONSCIENCE.  287 

"  I  never  could  understand,"  began  Constance,  after 
having  looked  for  a  while  at  the  picture,  "  why  that 
poor  old  man  is  maltreating  himself  so." 

"  lie  is  subduing  the  flesh,"  Julian  replied  at  ran 
dom. 

"Ah,  but  you  can't  do  that  with  a  stone,"  she 
ejaculated  with  the  same  cheerful  indifference. 

"  How  would  you  have  him  do  it  ?  "  ho  asked  with 
a  sudden  portentous  gravity. 

"  I,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  surprise ;  then,  as 
the  meaning  of  the  question  dawned  upon  her,  she 
turned  away  to  conceal  the  blush  that  flared  out  upon 
her  cheeks  :  "  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  thought  of  it 
But  I  fancy  St.  Jerome  must  have  been  a  coarse  man 
to  employ  such  coarse  means." 

"  He  was  a  scholar  of  rare  accomplishments ;  and, 
no  doubt,  a  gentleman." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  suspected  it" 

The  boy  chorus  here  burst  forth  in  a  triumphant : 

Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo  ! 

the  organ  poured  forth  a  rapturous  strain;  and  tho 
swinging  censers  exhaled  clouds  of  perfume.  Then 
a  male  chorus  began  to  sing,  now  in  parts  and  now 
again  in  unison,  a  long  penitential  supplication  full  of 
the  austerity  and  majestic  simplicity  of  the  early  Latin 
hymns.  It  was  easier  to  speak,  with  disregard  of  con 
ventionalities,  under  the  shelter  of  this  solemnly  mo 
notonous  chant  Constance  was  still  gazing  with  a 
wondering  interest  at  the  emaciated  saint,  when  he 
found  courage  to  say : 

44 1  think  I  can  sympathize  with  him.  There  have 
been  momenta  in  my  own  life  when  I  could  have  beat- 


288       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

en  my  breast  with  a  stone.  Ah,  my  sweet  girl,"  he 
hastened  to  add,  in  a  tenderer  tone,  "  there  is  a  baser 
alloy  in  the  nature  of  man  than  you,  in  your  inno 
cence,  suspect." 

She  fixed  her  eyes  upon  his  face  with  a  puzzled, 
half-timorous  smile. 

"  You  are  jesting,  Julian,"  she  said  ;  "  but  why 
persist  in  jesting  about  such  a  disagreeable  subject?" 

"No,  I  am  not  jesting.  There  is  something  I 
must  tell  you.  I  shall  not  have  peace  until  I  know 
that  you  have  forgiven  me." 

The  smile  died  out  of  her  face,  giving  way  to  a 
look  of  alarmed  apprehension. 

"  What  would  you  say  to  me,  Constance,"  he  be 
gan,  a  strange  shiver  creeping  over  him  while  he  ut 
tered  the  difficult  words,  "  if  I  told  you  that  I  am  not 
what  you  believe  me  to  be ;  if  I  told  you  that  there  is 
an  episode  in  my  past  which  I  would  give  years  of  my 
life  to  have  blotted  out?" 

He  bent  a  serious,  beseeching  gaze  upon  her ;  but 
she  looked  away,  moving  her  foot  uneasily  upon  the 
mosaic  pavement. 

"  Is  it — is  it — anything — with  a  woman  ?  "  she 
finally  managed  to  stammer. 

"Yes." 

"  Oh  God,"  she  murmured,  flashing  upon  him  an 
implacable  look  of  resentment  and  scorn,  "  why  did 
you  tell  me  this  ?  " 

"  Then  you  can  not  forgive  me  ?  " 

He  scarcely  knew  how  he  contrived  to  bring  forth 
intelligible  words,  for  his  tongue  seemed  thick  and 
unwieldy,  and  his  breath  stuck  in  his  throat.  She 
had  risen  now  and  stood  at  his  side,  calm  but  flushed, 


AN  EMBARRASSING  CONSCIENCE.  289 

and  with  dilated  eyes  and  an  expression  of  injured 
majesty. 

44 1  could  have  forgiven  you  for  deceiving  me,"  she 
said  slowly  and  bitterly ;  4t  but  now — now — you  have 
made  everything  impossible.  I  could  never  look  at 
you,  or  speak  to  you  again." 

The  music  streamed  forth  anew  with  an  accelerated 
tempo,  rumbling  in  the  bass  and  shrilling  with  seraphic 
tremulos  in  tho  treble.     Julian  felt  as  if  the  mighty 
flood  of  sound  were  vibrating  through  his  own  nerves. 
He  felt  dizzy ;  the  floor  undulated  under  his  feet.   The 
saints  gazed  down  upon  him  from  out  of  their  aureoles 
with  blurred  and  distorted  features.     An  instantane 
ous  doubt  of  the  reality  of  the  whole  scene  flashed 
through  his  brain.     Was  it  all  a  dream?     Some 
thing  like  it — the  very  same  thing,  in  fact — had  oc 
curred  before ;  in  a  previous  existence,  perhaps,  or  in 
a  trance.    It  had  an  oppressive,  nightmarish  air  of 
familiarity.     And  tins  woman  whom  he  loved — how 
she  had  changed  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  into  some 
thing  hard,  implacable,  Medusa-like — so  different  from 
what  he  had  imagined  her.     lie  questioned  for  an  in 
stant  whether  he  really  loved  her  as  much  as  he  had 
believed.     But  the  pain  that  nestled  about  his  heart ; 
the  bitter  regret  at  her  loss;  and  the  dull  vacuity  which 
he  foresaw  his  life  would  bo  without  her,  convinced 
him  that  he  could  hope  for  no  surcease  of  sorrow  from 
that  source.    He  was  moving  mechanically  at  her  side 
in  the  startling  silence  which  emphasized  the  cessation 
of  the  music,  marveling  at  the  resonance  of  his  foot 
steps  against  the  tombs  opposite.    He  lifted  up  the  mat 
tress  that  covered  the  door  and  saw  Constance  pass  in 
front  of  him  in  all  her  distracting  beauty;  and  the 
19 


290       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

rustle  of  her  garments  had  something  touching  about 
it,  something  wildly  alluring  that  trembled  through 
his  soul  with  a  despairing  sense  of  regret.  He  had  ex 
pected  to  speak  to  her  at  the  parting,  which  he  felt 
to  be  final  and  irrevocable ;  but  both  voice  and  thought 
forsook  him,  and  he  remained  standing  at  the  head  of 
the  long  flight  of  stairs,  seeing  her  slowly  descend,  her 
face  in  a  golden  glow  from  the  lining  of  her  parasol, 
and  never  once  turning  her  head  to  look  back  at  him. 
She  know  as  well  as  ho  that  one  relenting  glance  would 
have  brought  him  again  to  her  side.  But  a  rankling 
resentment,  strangely  mingled  with  mere  perversity, 
restrained  her  from  yielding  to  a  conciliatory  impulse 
which  now  and  then  asserted  itself.  A  revulsion  akin 
to  loathing — a  sense  of  insult  at  having  been  brought 
in  contact  with  something  vile  and  low — made  her 
shudder,  and  draw  herself  up  with  a  haughty  resolu 
tion  to  repel  all  overtures  for  a  reconciliation. 

When  she  had  turned  the  corner  of  the  street, 
Julian  leaned  up  against  the  wall  of  the  church  and 
tried  to  take  his  bearings.  The  familiar  world  before 
him  affected  him  with  a  strong  repulsion.  His  head 
was  heavy.  He  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  a  dull 
heartache  and  a  sense  of  annoyance  at  the  glare  of 
the  sun.  His  tongue  was  dry,  and  he  had  a  bitter 
taste  in  his  mouth.  A  curious  disposition  to  yawn 
took  possession  of  him.  While  he  descended  the  long 
staircase  his  thoughts  were  confused;  and  even  his 
sensations  were  indistinct  and  blurred.  He  knew 
dimly  that  his  life  was  ruined,  and  he  beheld  a  bar 
ren,  sunless  future  stretch  cut  drearily  before  him. 
Once  or  twice  he  stopped  in  the  shadow  of  a  house 
and  wrung  his  hands.  For  tho  life  of  him  he  could 


PENITENTIAL  YEARS,  291 

not  recall  the  mood  of  exalted  virtue  which  had  made 
the  confession  seem  imperative.  The  suspicion  ached 
like  a  sore  within  him  that  it  was  all  unnecessary, 
gratuitous,  unpardonable.  It  seemed  almost  callow. 
Was  it  possible  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself  ? 
He  hated  the  lofty  abstractions,  the  bloodless,  impos 
sible  ideals  by  which  Grantley  regulated  his  conduct, 
and  which  he  had  striven  to  emulate.  It  was  they 
that  were  responsible  for  the  disaster  which  had  over 
taken  him ;  for  the  loss  of  all  that  made  life  valuable. 
And  what  had  he  gained  in  return  ?  Not  even  the  bar 
ren  consolation  of  an  approving  conscience.  "  Vanity, 
vanity,  vanity  of  vanities,"  he  murmured  bitterly,  as 
he  mounted  the  stairway  of  the  pension  in  the  Piazza 
di  Spagna.  He  seemed  to  himself  a  shade  in  a  world 
of  shadows. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

PENITENTIAL    YEARS. 

JULIAN  lingered  for  three  days  in  the  Eternal  City, 
in  the  hope  of  receiving  some  message  that  might  alter 
the  complexion  of  his  future.  But  no  message  came. 
Then,  after  a  desperate  battle  with  his  pride,  he  began 
to  hover  about  the  neighborhood  of  the  Palazzo  Bar- 
berini,  in  the  hope  that  the  sight  of  him  might  arouse 
some  tender  memory  and  make  merciful  counsels  pre 
vail  ;  and  at  last  he  rang  the  bell  of  the  apartment  on 
the  third  floor,  and  waa  received  by  Hortense  with  a 
face  full  of  intelligent  sympathy.  But  Hortense's  mis 
tress  refused  to  receive  him.  She  was  and  remained 


292       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

invisible.  There  was  to  him  something  positively  in 
sulting  in  the  formal  announcement  that  she  was  not 
at  home. 

He  roamed  about  aimlessly  during  the  afternoon, 
and  found  himself  at  sunset  at  San  Pietro  in  Monto- 
rio,  where  there  is  a  beautiful  view  of  the  Campagna. 
There,  to  his  surprise,  he  was  confronted  with  Sir  Per 
cy  and  his  cousin  Delia,  who  told  him,  without  circum 
locution,  that  they  were  engaged  and  were  going  to  sail 
without  delay  for  the  United  States,  where  they  meant 
to  celebrate  their  wedding.  They  were  evidently  pre 
pared  for  opposition  on  his  part,  and  were  not  a  little 
astonished  at  the  readiness  with  which  he  acquiesced 
in  their  plan. 

There  was  nothing  to  detain  him  in  Rome  now ; 
and  the  sooner  he  could  bury  in  oblivion  the  memo 
ries  with  which  the  very  stones  were  eloquent,  the  bet 
ter  he  would  be  content 

He  accordingly  lost  no  time  in  securing  passage 
for  New  York;  and  during  the  first  week  in  June  he 
embarked  with  Delia  and  Sir  Percy  at  Liverpool.  De 
lia  then  confided  to  him  the  history  of  her  engagement, 
to  which  he  listened  with  a  famt  show  of  interest.  Sir 
Percy,  it  appeared,  after  a  futile  struggle,  had  conceded 
all  her  points  concerning  woman's  superiority  to  man, 
and  her  consequent  right  to  take  a  leading  role  in  lit 
erature,  science,  politics,  etc.,  which  concessions,  in 
turn,  had  given  Delia  a  high  idea  of  Sir  Percy's  intel 
ligence,  and  enabled  her  to  discover  in  him  a  multitude 
of  virtues  to  which  previously  she  had  been  blind. 
And  the  long  and  short  of  it  was  that,  after  having 
refused  Sir  Percy,  she  had  begun  to  feel  sorry  for  him ; 
and  that  had  led  to  a  still  tenderer  emotion.  She  re- 


PENITENTIAL  YEARS.  203 

peated,  with  strenuous  emphasis,  that  she  was  in  lovo 
with  Sir  Percy,  and  looked  at  Julian  with  a  humorous 
challenge  in  her  eyes,  as  if  she  expected  him  to  con 
tradict  her. 

They  were  received  at  the  pier  in  Hoboken  by  old 
Mr.  Burroughs,  who  looked  as  hard,  and  shrewd,  and 
contented  as  ever.  It  was  an  odd  fact  that  it  always 
took  a  week  or  more  before  Julian  and  he  could  get 
on  easy  terms  after  a  longer  separation.  They  had  to 
renew  each  other's  acquaintance ;  and  it  was  obvious 
that  the  son's  rigid  dignity  seemed  to  the  father  to  im 
ply  a  rebuke  of  his  own  jerky  and  slipshod  bearing. 

"  Well,  Jule,"  he  said,  looking  uneasily  about  him, 
as  he  wrung  his  son's  hand,  "  where  is  the  girl  ?  " 

44  She  is  in  Rome,"  Julian  answered  with  a  frown 
and  a  flush  which  were  lost  on  the  old  man's  cheerful 
obtuseness. 

44 1  thought  you  wrote  you  was  going  to  marry  her," 
he  persisted,  with  a  mien  expressive  of  the  liveliest 
interest 

44 1  was,  but  she  changed  her  mind." 

44  Oh,  fiddlesticks  1  You  never  knew  how  to  handle 
the  girls,  Jule;  that's  what  I've  always  said.  They 
want  to  be  coaxed,  don't  you  see.  They  expect  it ;  they 
wouldn't  respect  themselves  if  they  didn't  kick  up  a 
little  row  occasionally,  just  for  the  fun  of  being  tickled, 
and  petted,  and  coaxed  back  into  good  humor.  But 
you,  Jule,  you  take  them  too  seriously;  you  haven't 
got  any  circumspection.  Oh,  Lord  I  don't  I  wish  I  had 
been  there  to  help  you!  I  should  have  settled  that 
pickle  for  you  in  a  jiffy.  It's  too  bad,  it's  too  bad  I " 

The  old  man  walked  off,  shaking  his  head  with  an 
air  of  serious  annoyance. 


294       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

44 1  had  made  the  house  all  ready  for  her,"  he  re 
sumed,  when  he  had  walked  off  his  displeasure ;  "  and 
now  she  ain't  coming,  you  say.  I  can't  somehow  get 
used  to  it.  And  all  the  bad  pictures  in  your  rooms — 
thoso  that  would  bo  ombarassing,  don't  you  know,  to 
a  young  woman — I  have  taken  down  and  moved  to  the 
garret." 

44 1  wish  you  wouldn't  say  anything  more  about  it, 
governor,"  said  Julian  with  a  chilling  loftiness,  which 
the  Honorable  Abiel  could  not  fail  to  understand. 

44  Well,  well,"  he  muttered  with  a  half  embarrassed 
nonchalance,  "  I  suppose  it  is  all  right.  But  it's  too 
d bad,  all  the  same." 

It  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  to  Julian  that  his 
father  folt  it  incumbont  upon  him  to  show  some  atten 
tion  to  Sir  Percy,  who  lingered  in  the  city  for  a  week, 
previous  to  his  departure  with  his  bride  for  Indiana. 
For  the  old  man  had  a  way  of  unwittingly  scorching 
his  finest  sensibilities  and  making  all  that  ho  touched 
eoo m  mean  and  sordid.  It  was  partly  as  an  escape  out 
of  himself  and  the  despairing  monotony  of  self-re 
proach  and  regret  that  he  wrote  to  Grantley,  urging 
him  to  redeem  his  promise  without  delay.  He  felt  a 
need  to  lift  his  eyes  again  toward  the  heights  "  from 
whence  cometh  help."  And  he  turned  instintively  to 
Gruntloy  as  the  only  man  ho  know  who  brought  con 
solation  in  his  voice  and  healing  in  his  wings. 

Toward  the  end  of  September  Grantley  came,  and 
was  induced  to  take  up  his  abode  temporarily  under 
the  Honorable  Abiel's  roof.  But  quite  abruptly,  at  the 
end  of  a  week,  ho  loft  and  engaged  lodgings  in  Baxter 
Street,  one  of  the  vilest  and  most  miserable  quarters 
of  the  city.  And  in  answer  to  Julian's  anxious  queries, 


PENITENTIAL  YEARS.  295 

he  quoted  the  passage  of  the  Bible  concerning  the 
difficulty  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.  "I  was  being  petted,  and  spoiled  and  pam 
pered,  my  dear  boy,"  he  exclaimed  hotly ;  "  the  trouble 
was,  I  liked  it  I  had  to  run  away  while  there  was 
yet  a  spark  of  the  spirit  of  Christ  loft  in  me." 

The  two  next  years  of  Julian's  life  were  occupied 
almost  exclusively  in  philanthropical  enterprises  under 
Grantley's  direction,  lie  built  the  promised  church, 
not  as  he  had  intended,  for  the  fashionable  world,  on 
Fifth  or  Madison  Avenue,  but,  at  his  friend's  urgent 
request,  in  the  midst  of  the  slums.  He  was  violently 
aroused  from  his  indolent  sloth  by  the  things  he  saw 
and  heard — horrible  beyond  conception.  Ilis  senti 
mental  sorrows — keen  though  they  were,  like  steel  in 
his  flesh — seemed  intangible,  misty,  and  unsubstantial 
in  the  presence  of  hunger,  filth,  and  wasting  disease. 
The  barren  dreariness,  discomfort,  and  monotonous 
toil  of  the  lives  which  three  fourths  of  the  human  race 
are  doomed  to  live  seemed  to  him  a  perpetual  accusa 
tion  against  himself,  who,  by  pure  chance,  without  a 
shadow  of  merit  on  his  own  part,  had  been  placed  in 
circumstances  of  opulence,  refinement  and  ease.  If  he 
failed  to  live  a  noble  life,  how  manifold  greater  was 
his  shame  than  that  of  the  helpless,  ignorant  wretches 
who  had  inherited  brutal  passions,  and  passed  their 
years  in  tenements  where  the  common  decencies  had 
to  be  disregarded  for  want  of  room?  An  infinite 
.charity  and  tender  fellow-feeling  for  all  who  suffered 
became  lodged  in  his  heart.  The  ascetio  zeal  was 
kindled  again  within  him,  and  there  were  moments 
when  he  would  gladly  have  surrendered  all  his  advan 
tages  in  order  to  gain  that  cheerfulness  in  renuncia- 


296       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

tion,  that  serene  contentment  in  well-doing,  which 
made  Grantloy  seem  the  most  enviable  of  men.  But 
Julian,  as  ho  was  well  aware,  practised  altruism  with 
an  ulterior  purpose,  not  because  it  gave  him  pleasure, 
still  less  because  he  was  impelled  by  a  sense  of  duty, 
but  because  he  needed  something  to  fill  the  aching 
void  within  him.  He  hoped  to  find  healing,  as  Faust 
did  after  his  harrowing  experience,  in  useful  and  un 
selfish  activity.  But  the  very  fact  that  he  was  con 
scious  of  such  a  motive  robbed  his  benevolence  of  its 
healing  virtue.  A  ravenous  heart-hunger  came  over 
him  at  times,  and  he  would  lose  interest  in  every  one's 
alTairs  but  his  own.  Nay,  there  were  even  moments 
when  his  own  concerns  ceased  to  interest  him,  What 
was  ho?.  A  mere  animated  grain  of  dust  whirling 
through  the  vast  space.  He  would  lie  for  hours  on  his 
sofa  trying  to  realize  the  idea  of  the  infinite — bound- 
lof?3  blue  expanses  behind  boundless  blue  expanses — 
vast,  shining  globes  spinning  about  central  suns,  myr 
iads  and  myriads  of  worlds,  some  slowly  evolving  out 
of  nebular  chaos,  some  teeming  with  a  vigorous,  feverish 
life,  some  past  their  meridian,  slowly  waning  toward  all- 
cngulfing  ohaos  and  destruction.  A  nightmarish  sense 
of  the  futility  of  all  things  would  then  oppress  him  for 
days,  and  ho  would  walk  about  as  in  a  trance,  staring 
with  a  puzzled  blankness  at  the  variegated  panorama 
of  the  great  city,  but  seeing  and  hearing  its  sights  and 
sounds  as  in  a  troubled  dream.  Ho  would  repeat  to 
himself  as  ho  walked  the  awful  verse  of  Omar  Khayam : 

"  When  you  and  I  behind  the  veil  have  passed, 
Oh,  but  the  long,  long  while  the  world  shall  last, 
Which  of  our  coming  nrnl  departing  herds, 
AM  hood  II to  seven  ficaa  one  pebble  eaM." 


PENITENTIAL  YEARa  297 

In  the  background  of  his  thought  lingered  always 
the  imago  of  Constance;  and,  though  he  strove  to 
banish  it,  it  would  often  start  up  suddenly  in  strong 
illumination.  His  memory  played  him  all  sorts  of 
tricks,  recalling  her  voice,  her  eyes,  her  dress,  her  gait, 
by  the  most  incalculable  association  of  ideas.  Often 
from  weakness,  perhaps,  or  from  acute  regret,  a  sud 
den  moisture  would  suffuse  his  eyes  at  the  recollection 
of  some  look  of  hers,  some  sweet  intonation  of  her 
voice,  some  impulsive  caress,  or  tender  nonsense.  Time 
seemed  to  make  no  difference  in  the  vividness  of  these 
memories.  The  regret  was  as  acute  as  if  they  had 
parted  yesterday.  All  women  seemed  commonplace, 
crude  and  shrill,  when  compared  with  her ;  their  talk 
like  meaningless  cackle ;  their  arts  stale  and. unpleas 
ant  ;  their  vivacity  like  that  of  an  automaton,  pulled 
by  unseen  wires. 

He  found  it  hard  at  times  to  forgive  Grantley  for 
the  share  he  bore  in  his  misfortune.  But  he  fought 
this  feeling  as  unworthy  of  him,  and  never  allowed 
the  clergyman  to  suspect  that  he  held  him  in  anywise 
responsible.  The  more  astonished  he  was  to  discover 
that  his  friend  had  long  since  divined  the  state  of  his 
feeling. 

44  Look  here,  old  man,"  Grantley  began,  one  even 
ing,  as  they  sat  smoking  together  in  Julian's  library, 
"  I  want  you  to  give  yourself  the  comfort  of  abusing 
me.  I  know  exactly  how  you  feel  about  a  certain 
matter  which  I  won't  say  anything  about.  Now,  it  is 
a  natural  feeling,  and  if  you  speak  out  freely  you'll 
more  easily  rid  yourself  of  it" 

"You  make  me  ashamed  of  myself,  Grantley," 
Julian  answered ;  **  I  owe  you  so  much."  , 


208       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

**  That's  all  right,  my  boy,"  the  clergyman  inter 
rupted  ;  "  but  kcop  that  for  some  other  time.  Now  I 
want  you  to  abuse  me." 

44 1  can't  abuse  you.  I'll  admit  I've  felt  unkindly 
toward  you  at  times — " 

"  Why  don't  you  say  you've  hated  me  ?  I'm  sure  I 
should  have  hated  you,  if  the  case  had  been  reversed." 

"  No,  I've  never  hated  you — at  least,  never  in  my 
sane  moments." 

"  And,  now,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  propose  to  do  ?  What  would  you  ad 
vise  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  don't  dare  to  advise  you.  I  want  you  to  tell  me 
if  you  have  any  plans." 

Julian  smoked  for  some  minutes  in  silence,  staring 
through  the  smoke  toward  the  ceiling. 

«  Well,  I  have  a  plan,"  he  said,  at  last,  «4  but  I  doubt 
if  you  will  approve  of  it." 

"  Why  not  ?    Let  us  hear  it." 

"  I  am  going  back  to  Rome." 

44  Good  ! "  cried  Grantley ;  and,  jumping  up,  he 
grasped  his  friend's  hand  and  pressed  it  heartily — 
"  That  is  as  it  ought  to  be." 

Julian  was  so  surprised  at  his  ardor  that  he  scarcely 
found  voice  to  answer.  The  thought  darted  through 
his  brain  that  Grantley,  perhaps,  spoke  from  a  more 
intimate  knowledge  than  he  himself  possessed.  Had 
he  remained  in  communication  with  Constance^  or  had 
he  friends  in  Rome  who  reported  to  him  ?  A  joyous 
tumult  of  imagination  drove  the  blood  to  his  face. 
Ho  rose,  took  a  turn  on  the  floor,  and,  with  a  voice 
ringing  with  decision,  ho  repeated :  "  I  am  going  to 
Rome." 


COLLISIONS.  299 

Ho  would  have  liked  to  ask  Grantley  whether  his 
eurmise  was  correct,  but  it  seemed  somehow  like  flying 
in  the  face  of  Providence,  What  if  it  was  not  cor 
rect  ?  A  certain  coyness  and  reticence,  concerning  all 
matters  relating  to  the  affairs  of  the  heart,  was  innate 
in  his  character ;  and  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
say  another  word  on  the  subject 

But  three  days  later  he  sailed  for  Liverpool  in  the 
Umbria,  and  early  in  October  ho  registered  at  the 
Hotel  Costanzi  in  Rome. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

COLLISIONS. 

AMERICAN  reputations,  as  we  all  know,  have  to  be 
made  in  England  if  they  are  literary,  in  Franco  if  they 
are  artistic.  It  is  only  our  political  reputations  which 
we  make  at  home.  The  rising  celebrity  to  which  I 
am  about  to  refer  was  a  pictorial  one,  and  accordingly 
had  to  compete  for  Parisian  laurels.  It  was  in  the 
salon  of  188-,  two  years  after  the  occurrences  narrated 
in  the  previous  chapters,  that  George  Talbot  succeeded 
in  'attracting  the  attention  of  the  august  personages 
who  preside  over  artistic  destinies.  All  his  friends, 
except  Sir  Percy  and  Lady  Armitage,  nfo  Saunders, 
who  now  regarded  him  as  a  prodigy,  prophesied  fail 
ure  unless  he  dined  the  critics  of  the  most  influential 
journals  or  provided  bacchanals  a  la  fourchette  with 
champagne  and  sirens  from  the  Ope"  ra  Bonffe,  after  the 
inspection  of  the  pictures  on  Varnishing  Night  The 


300       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

young  man,  impractical  as  ever,  declared,  with  much 
heated  rhetoric,  that  he  refused  to  sneak  into  the  tem 
ple  of  Fame  by  a  back  door;  and  his  friends  retorted 
derisively  that  he  would  remain  forever  a  sojourner  on 
the  staircase,  a  perennial  candidate,  perennially  shut 
out.    But  they  changed  their  tune  when  the  "  Figaro," 
the  "  Journal  des  Debats,"  and  "  Le  Temps "  pro 
nounced  his  two  canvases,  "  Enchantment "  and  "  Re 
nunciation,"  the  most  notable  pictures  of  the  Exhibi 
tion.    Neither  seemed  in  the  least  ambitious.    Any 
one  but  a  connoisseur  would  have  passed  them  by. 
One  represented  a  blonde  young  woman  in  a  Greek 
shepherdess  costume  seated  on  a  rock,  while  a  young 
man,  lying  on  the  ground,  was  gazing  with  a  rapt  look 
into  her  countenance.     This  countenance  was,  as  a 
piece  of  pictorial  individualization,  simply  marvelous. 
Never  was  the  soul  of  an  enchantress  more  subtly  and 
yet  more  nobly  conceived.    It  was  not  a  coquette,  not 
a  shallow  siren,  but  a  great,  passionate,  yet  innocent 
woman,  the  embodiment  of  some  grandly  mysterious 
force  of  nature,  wielding  a  power  which  she  did  not 
herself  comprehend.    And  yet  every  feature  was  so 
clearly  and  definitely  modeled,  and  the  individuality 
so  complete  and  so  penetrating,  that  it  haunted  the 
mind  like  an  importunate  melody.     The  landscape, 
too,  with  the  goats  and  sheep  and  heathery  hill-slopea, 
had  the  same  exactness,  the  same  convincing  veracity 
in  every  detail.    "It  told  its  geological  history  as 
plainly  as  does  Nature  herself,  and  might,"  said  the 
"  Figaro,"  "  give  points  to  the  botanist." 

The  picture  entitled  "  Renunciation "  was  of  a 
wholly  different  character.  It  represented  a  narrow 
Roman  street  by  night,  through  which  a  funeral  was 


COLLISIONS.  301 

passing.  Priests  and  penitents,  carrying  burning  ta 
pers,  were  walking  behind  the  coffin,  chanting  their 
lugubrious  chants.  In  the  front  row  a  delicate  ema 
ciated  face  was  seen  lighted  up  by  a  taper,  and  a  pair 
of  dark  eyes  flashed  forth  from  under  the  cowl  with  a 
glance  of  despairing  recognition  at  a  lady  who  stood 
on  the  sidewalk.  They  were  so  close  to  each  other 
that  they  could  clasp  hands.  The  yet  unsubdued 
spirit,  the  hopeless  impassioned  cry  for  life  and  joy 
and  love,  it  was  all  expressed,  and  potently  expressed, 
in  that  glance.  Of  the  lady's  face  so  little  was  seen 
that  her  emotion  could  only  be  conjectured.  But  the 
story  was  trenchantly  told,  and  the  tremendous  energy 
of  suffering  in  the  priest's  features  revealed  (to  quote 
"  Figaro  "  once  more)  the  painter  as  "  a  man  of  sorrow 
and  acquainted  with  grief."  It  was  all  so  personal, 
BO  acutely  felt,  and  unerringly  accentuated.  It  was 
strongly  hinted  that  the  blonde  priest's  face  was  that 
of  the  artist  himself.  That  he  had  not  attained  to 
any  state  of  peaceful  renunciation  might  well  be  con 
jectured.  The  nirvana  of  passionless  contemplation 
of  the  beautiful,  which  he  had  recently  proclaimed  as 
the  ideal  condition  of  the  artist,  was  as  far  beyond  his 
reach  as  ever.  But  his  one  great  experience,  and  the 
suffering  it  had  brought  him,  had  enriched  and  ripened 
his  character,  and  given  him  a  grip  on  the  actuali 
ties  of  life  which  promised  yet  nobler  works  in  years 
to  come.  There  was  one  thing  yet  which  ho  desired 
supremely,  and  without  which,  as  it  appeared  to  him, 
all  other  things  wero  valueless.  It  was  the  same  object 
about  which  his  thoughts  had  revolved  since  the  day 
he  arrived  in  Rome,  and  presented  his  letter  of  intro 
duction  to  Constance  Douglas ;  and  now,  in  the  first 


302       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

flush  of  his  triumph,  while  he  rarely  took  up  a  news 
paper  without  expecting  to  find  some  mention  of  his 
name,  his  first  thought  was  again  of  Constance  Doug 
las,  and  he  hastened  back  to  Rome  to  lay  his  new- 
won  renown  at  her  feet. 

It  was  on  the  eighth  day  of  October,  188-,  when 
there  was  already  a  ghost  of  coolness  in  the  shade, 
though  the  sun  yet  shone  with  undimmed  splendor, 
that  Talbot,  ascending  the  Via  delle  Quattro  Fontano, 
observed  on  the  sidewalk  opposite  a  familiar  figure, 
which  seemed  to  be  wending  its  way  in  the  same  di 
rection  as  himself.  His  heart  sank  within  him,  and 
in  his  limbs  he  had  a  strange  seneation  of  numbness. 
Was  it  possible  that  he  was  too  late?  Had  the  dis 
carded  lover  been  taken  back  into  favor  again  ?  Tal 
bot  took  off  his  hat  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from 
his  brow  with  his  handkerchief.  He  felt  a  trifle  dizzy. 
In  the  meanwhile  the  obnoxious  Burroughs  was  press 
ing  on.  He  noticed  that  he  looked  serious.  There 
was  no  unusual  elasticity  in  his  step.  No  joyous  ex 
hilaration  in  his  features.  Perhaps  he  was  about  to 
try  his  fortunes  for  the  third  or  fourth  time  like  him 
self.  In  that  case,  it  was  of  importance  to  be  first  on 
hand.  The  race  was  to  the  swiftest.  Talbot  redoubled 
his  speed,  and  almost  ran  up  toward  the  gate  of  tho 
Palazzo  Barber ini.  But,  for  all  that,  ho  found  his 
rival  waiting  for  him  when  he  arrived. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Talbot  ?  "  asked  Julian,  shakiug 
his  hand  with  unaffected  friendliness.  "  I  take  it  we 
are  both  on  the  same  errand*  You  are  going  to  call 
upon  Miss  Douglas." 

"  Yes — yes,  to  be  sure,"  answered  Talbot,  wonder- 
ingly.  He  felt  shaken,  undone.  An  hysterical  anxi- 


COLLISIONS.  303 

ety  made  his  voice  unsteady,  and  an  overwhelming 
pity  for  himself  summoned  tears  into  his  eyes.  It  wan 
obvious  that  Burroughs  had  drawn  the  prize  after  all. 
He  could  not  otherwise  have  afforded  to  be  BO  mag 
nanimous. 

44 1  suppose  you  have  kept  up  your  acquaintance 
with  the  family  all  the  while/*  Julian  observed,  look 
ing  intently  at  the  ground,  while  poking  the  ferrule  of 
his  cane  into  a  hole  in  the  pavement 

44  No,"  replied  Talbot,  still  more  amazed,  4t  I  have 
been  living  in  Paris  during  the  last  two  years." 
44  Ah,  indeed." 

The  situation  was  now  perfectly  plain  to  Julian. 
Talbot  had  come  to  dazzle  Constance  with  his  new-won 
fame,  in  the  hope  that  she  might  relent.  He  noted  with 
amusement  the  obtrusive  stylishness  of  his  attire,  and 
a  certain  Parisian  chic  in  his  boots,  his  neck- tie,  his 
cane.  His  fine,  silky  hair  had  been  shorn  of  its  exu 
berance,  and  his  mustache,  which  was  as  yellow  as  ever, 
had  grown  thicker  and  acquired  a  smart  curl  at  the 
ends ;  and,  to  cap  the  climax,  he  had  raised  a  goatee 
a  la  Napoleon  III. 

44 1  suppose,"  he  managed  to  stammer,  while  his 
virginal  blush  mantled  his  cheeks, 44 1  suppose — that's 
to  say — I  presume  you  have  been  in  Rome  for  a  good 
while." 

The  purport  of  this  question  was  so  transparent 
that  it  would  have  required  more  sang  froid  than  he 
waa  possessed  of  to  utter  it  without  embarrassment. 
He  was  prepared  for  a  snub  in  reply,  and  conceded 
that  he  deserved  it.  But  Julian's  manner  reassured 
him. 

44 1  arrived  to-day,"  he  answered,  simply,  "  and  I 


304       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

think,  on  the  whole,  I  will  postpone  my  call.  Will 
you  do  me  the  favor  not  to  mention  my  name  to  Miss 
Douglas?" 

Talbot's  eyes  dilated  with  amazement  Was  ho 
playing  a  very  deep  game,  this  high-nosed  young  na 
bob,  or  was  he  simply  an  idiot  ?  Not  mention  his 
name !  No,  to  be  sure,  he  would  take  good  care  to 
keep  mum  on  so  ticklish  a  subject.  He  needed  no 
urging  to  grant  that  favor.  He  resented  his  rival's 
imperturbable  manner,  which  contrasted  so  glaringly 
with  his  own  breathless  excitement  and  haste.  "  Well," 
he  ejaculated,  in  a  cheerfully  fortuitous  strain,  UI  am 
glad  to  have  seen  you.  Sorry  you  won't  come  up. 
Hope  to  see  you  soon  again ;  I  have  no  permanent  quar 
ters  yet,  but  will  let  you  know  when  I've  found  a 
roosting  place." 

They  shook  hands  once  more,  and  Talbot,  betray 
ing  his  anxiety  to  be  off,  darted  up  the  stairs,  as  if  he 
were  afraid  to  give  Julian  time  to  reconsider.  A  vague 
misgiving  did,  indee$,  invade  the  latter's  mind  as  he 
saw  the  artist  vanish  beyond  the  second  landing,  and 
heard  his  eager  footsteps  on  the  marble.  Was  he  not 
rashly  challenging  fate  ?  Was  he  not  a  second  time 
staking  his  happiness  on  a  very  slender  chance  ?  But 
if  Consignee  could  listen  to  Talbot's  suit — if  she  could 
as  a  mere  pis  dller  put  up  with  that  fantastic  and  ex 
citable  boy,  simulating  an  affection  for  him  which 
she  could  never  feel,  had  she  then  not  fallen  from 
her  high  estate,  was  she  not  then  unworthy  of  the 
•  deeper  and  stronger  and  nobler  love  which  he  bore 
her?  But  then,  again,  there  are  all  sorts  of  little  com 
plications  in  a  woman's  life  which  have  and  must  have 
weight  in  such  a  decision,  and  which  may  drag  her 


COLLISIONS.  305 

down  from  the  heroic  altitudes  into  tho  depths  of  sor 
did  and  humiliating  necessities.  All  these  possibilities 
passed  through  Julian's  mind,  while  he  promenaded 
up  one  street  and  down  another,  always  keeping  the 
gate  of  the  palace  in  view.  As  the  slow  minutes  dragged 
themselves  along,  ho  began  to  repent  of  the  advantage 
ho  had  granted  to  Tulbot.  Ho  foresaw  tho  long,  dreary 
days  and  nights  of  the  future,  when  he  would  consume 
his  soul  with  regrets  for  not  having  accepted,  at  any 
price,  the  happiness  that  perhaps  had  been  within  his 
reach.  No  one  can  force  his  own  terms  upon  fate ; 
he  must  accept  whatever  terms  he  can  get. 

For  half  an  hour  Julian  walked  up  and  down, 
struggling  with  these  uncomfortable  reflections.  Then 
as  he  ascended  for  the  fourth  time  the  slope  of  the 
Via  delle  Quattro  Fontane,  his  heart  suddenly  leaped 
into  his  throat.  There  was  Talbot,  rushing  blindly 
ahead,  with  a  sullen  gloom  upon  his  face  which  ad 
vertised  the  result  of  his  wooing.  The  joy  that  lit  up 
Julian's  features  at  the  sight  of  bis  discomfiture  dealt 
him  a  wound  which  long  continued  to  rankle.  The 
reproachful,  suffering  glance  which  he  sent  his  former 
friend,  as  he  entered  the  gate,  sobered  the  latter  and 
made  him  ashamed  of  his  triumph.  Why  must  he 
buy  his  happiness — if,  indeed,  it  was  to  be  his — at  the 
expense  of  another's  pain?  But,  after  all,  it  was  foolish 
of  Talbot  to  raise  his  eyes  so  high.  The  moth  has  no 
business  to  desire  the  star.  It  was  a  case  of  misplaced 
affection.  There  was  a  natural  fitness  in  all  things ; 
and  if  Talbot  had  perceived  it,  he  might  have  been 
saved  immolation  upon  the  altar  of  an  unrelenting 
goddess.  4 

It  was  with  an  irrepressible  trepidation  that  Julian 


306       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

mounted  the  stairs  and  rang  the  door-bell.  He  had  to 
restrain  his  desire  to  shake  hands  with  Hortense  when 
she  opened  the  door  for  him. 

"  Mon  Dieu  J/.  Buroz  I "  she  exclaimed,  with  her 
most  brilliant  Gallic  smile,  "est  ce  que  vous  avez 
tomtt  des  nuages  9  " 

She  was  obviously  glad  to  see  him ;  and"  he  regarded 
that  as  a  good  omen.  In  recognition  of  her  partisan 
ship  he  gave  her  a  friendly  nod,  and  while  she  drew 
aside  the  tawny  draperies,  entered  the  beautiful  little 
Renaissance  salon.  He  expected  to  compose  his  soul 
in  patience  knowing  that  he  would  have  to  wait.  And 
ho  needed  time  to  quell  the  agitation  which  the  sight 
of  all  these  dearly  familiar  objects  aroused.  There 
was  a  distinctly  Roman  flavor  in  the  decorations  and 
atmosphere  of  the  room — such  a  delightful  old-world 
frivolity,  sobered  into  a  kind  of  historic  dignity  by  the 
lapse  of, time.  When  ho  thought  of  his  American  life 
and  surroundings,  in  the  presence  these  relics  of  a 
venerable  past,  ho  foijnd  it  hard  to  believe  in  their 
reality. 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  this  little  reverie,  which  had 
relieved  the  strain  of  his  expectation,  when  the  door 
to  the  adjoining  room  was  opened  and  Constance 
stood  before  him.  ^  He  arose  slowly  and  advancing 
toward  her  pressed  her  hand.  The  tenderness,  which 
always  welled  up  from  his  heart  at  the  sight  of  her, 
gushed  liko  a  warm  current  through  his  veins,  and 
dimmed  his  eyes.  There  was  a  rare  and  exquisite 
quality  in  her  beauty  which  touched  him.  It  set  her 
apart  from  all  other  women  as  much  as  if  she  belonged 
to  a  separate  species.  And  yet  his  first  glance  told  him 
that  aho  had  changed,  though  it  was  diillcult  to  define 


COLLISIONS.  307 

the  change.  It  was  the  change  that  a  melody  under 
goes  in  being  transposed  into  minor.  It  was  yet  the 
same  Constance,  with  the  same  stately  erectness,  tho 
same  noble  dignity.  But  in  her  eyes  there  was  a  gentle 
sadness  and  in  the  lines  of  her  lips  a  touch  of  pathos. 
She  impressed  his  vision  as  a  soft,  rich  minor  strain 
impresses  tho  ear.  Instead  of  tho  placid  self-suffi 
ciency  of  former  days — the  pagan  equilibrium  and 
serenity  of  soul,  as  Talbot  put  it — there  was  a  vaguely 
appealing  look  which  betrayed  unrest  and  suffering. 
Iler  smile  was  less  brilliant,  less  self-confident,  but 
still  inexpressibly  sweet  Her  attire,  though  fashion 
able  and  in  admirable  taste,  seemed  less  striking,  less 
agressively  stylish  and  voluminous. 

"  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  met,  Miss  Douglas,"  ho 
began,  a  little  awkwardly  (for  it  seemed  impossible  to 
find  a  remark  that  seemed  natural),  "  I  hope  you  have 
not — forgotten  me." 

Ho  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  joy  or  anxiety 
which  made  his  heart  beat  so  loudly  and  set  his  blood 
afire  with  unutterable  longings. 

"  No,  I  have  not  forgotten  yon,  Mr.  Burroughs," 
she  answered,  unembarrassed  by  the  intentness  of  his 
gaze ;  "  I  hope  you  have  been  well.  Won't  you  please 
be  seated." 

There  was  to  him  something  farcical  in  the  ex 
change  of  these  formal  civilities  between  two  people 
who  had  once  been  to  each  other  what  they  had  been. 
It  was  like  the  preliminary  "  shamming  "  of  fencers 
before  the  real  fight  begins.  And  yet  he  had  no  choice 
but  to  persevere  in  the  key  which  she  had  chosen. 

"  I  hope  Sir  Percy  and  Lady  Armitage  are  well," 
she  observed,  with  an  animation  which  sprang  from 


303       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

another  source  than  her  interest  in  Sir  Percy ;  "  I  am 
told  they  have  opened  the  house  at  Donnymere,  and 
that  Sir  Percy  has  become  a  country  gentleman." 

"  Yes,  since  his  son  was  born  he  has  sold  his  col 
lection  of  shells,  given  up  his  eccentricities,  and  be 
come  the  most  devoted  and  chivalrous  of  husbands. 
It  was  Lady  Armitago  who  made  him  stand  for  Par 
liament,  and  there  are  even  those  who  say  it  was  she 
who  elected  him.  At  all  events,  she  developed  a  posi 
tive  genius  for  electioneering.  But  it  is  told  as  a  joke 
that  in  return  for  the  concession  she  made  in  becom 
ing  Lady  Armitago,  without  inRiating  upon  his  bo- 
coming  Mr.  Saunders,  he  had  to  assume  her  politics, 
and  I  half  suspect  that  when  her  son  grows  up  she  will, 
in  pure  self-defence,  have  to  assume  his.  Sir  Percy, 
you  know,  was  formerly  a  Tory,  but  she  has  made 
him  ii  Liburul." 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  them  both  my  kindest  re 
gards.  A  propos  of  Lady  Armitage  I  can  not  help 
telling  you  something  which  quite  touched  me.  When 
she  became  engaged  to  Sir  Percy,  two  years  ago,  they 
came  hero  to  call  upon  rue,  On  the  way  Sir  Percy 
indiscreetly  confessed  that  he  had  once  made  me  an 
offer  of  marriage,  whereupon  Miss  Saunders  promptly 
sent  iiim  home  and  palled  upon  me  alone.  She  talked 
about  everything  under  the  sun ;  but,  although  she 
wii3  dying  to  say  something  about  her  engagement, 
she  departed  without  having  alluded  to  the  all-absorb 
ing  topic.  I  was  not  well  at  that  time,  and  she  feared 
that  she  might  in  some  way  hurt  my  feelings." 

Julian  listened  with  polite  attention ;  but  began  to 
fool  a  dim  resentment  against  his  cousin  for  absorbing 
so  much  precious  time  that  might  bo  more  agreeably 


COLLISIONS.  309 

employed.  He  felt  half-inclined  to  give  vent  to  his 
chagrin  by  observing,  what  was  incontestibly  true,  that 
Lady  Armitage's  conversational  license  had  grown 
upon  her  since  her  marriage,  and  that  she  positively 
reveled  in  physiological  improprieties.  She  had  re 
cently  written  a  pamphlet  (which  out  of  regard  for 
Sir  Percy  she  had  published  anonymously),  in  which 
she  debated  the  question  whether  the  father  or  the 
mother  had  the  greater  share  in  the  character  of  the 
child — and  it  is  needless  to  say  that  she  decided  in 
favor  of  the  latter. 

Mrs.  Douglas,  who  had  grown  old  and  paralytic 
since  Julian  last  saw  her,  was  wheeled  into  the  room 
in  an  invalid's  chair,  and  stayed  for  an  hour.  She 
complimented  Julian  upon  his  appearance,  and  urged 
him  to  stay  to  dinner. 

The  meal  was  served  in  a  small,  boudoir-like  room, 
painted  a  warm  red,  with  a  procession  of  naked  genii 
laden  with  culinary  dainties  dancing  along  the  frieze. 
An  aged  and  solemn  butler,  who  served  simultaneously 
in  two  families,  moved  noiselessly  about  the  table  and 
uncovered  the  dishes.  The  conversation,  which  was 
kept  up  from  a  sense  of  duty,  acquired  an  air  of  con 
scious  futility.  Julian  yearned  to  be  alone  with  Con 
stance,  and  pour  out  his  soul  to  her.  He  longed  to 
know  her  troubles,  her  hopes,  her  wishes.  As  he 
sat  opposite  to  her  at  the  table  and  saw  the  shaded 
candle-light  upon  her  noble  face,  and  heard  her  soft, 
sweet  voice,  his  imperious  love,  hidden  under  the  ashes 
of  conventionality,  began  to  send  forth  little  ruddy  jets 
of  flame.  Whatever  she  said,  her  words  touched  some 
new  stop  and  opened  a  new  flood-gate  of  pent-up  feel 
ing.  It  was  not  because  she  was  still  beautiful,  nor 


310       THE  LIGHT  OF  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

because  she  was  noble  and  accomplished,  that  ho  loved 
her,  but  because  she  was  Constance  Douglas,  the  woman 
who  had  humiliated  him  and  exalted  him,  who  had 
been  his  misery  and  his  happiness,  who  with  a  listless 
hand  had  struck  the  keys  of  his  nature  and  drawn 
from  them  a  storm  of  discords  which  was  now  being 
lulled  into  harmony. 

After  dinner,  Mrs.  Douglas  begged  to  be  excused, 
and  was  wheeled  back  into  her  sleeping-room.  Julian, 
after  having  bidden  her  good-night,  followed  Constance 
into  the  drawing-room.  Tho  air  was  warm,  and  tho 
moonlight  was  pouring  in  through  the  large  windows. 

"  Ah,  this  is  glorious ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Do  not 
lot  us  have  any  lamps.  Let  us  luxuriate  for  a  while  in 
this  delicious  twilight." 

She  made  a  sign  to  tho  butler,  who  was  entering 
with  two  lamps,  and  he  retired,  leaving  them  together 
in  the  moonlight.  They  went  to  a  window  and  looked 
out  upon  tho  Eternal  City,  with  its  towers  and  cupolas 
,  emerging  out  of  the  dusk.  The  mingled  perfumes  of 
roses  and  orange-blossoms  wore  wafted  up  to  them 
from  the  garden  below.  The  stone-pines  and  ilexes 
stood  veiled  in  shining  mists,  like  stately  ghosts  wrap 
ping  their  shrouds  about  them.  Far  away  a  melodious 
church-bell  began  to  tinkle  with  a  faint,  clear  sound ; 
and,  when  it  ceased,  n  bird  bo^an  to  warble  down  in 
,  tho  oraiigo-troca.  All  I  tho  world  lay  stooped  in  a  aot't, 
magical  radiance,  like  a  bright,  blissful  dream. 

"  Life  is  beautiful  yet,"  he  whispered,  letting  his 
glance  range  over  the  moon-flooded  landscape. 

"  Thero  was  a  time  when  I  thought  so,"  she  an 
swered,  with  that  little  intangible  sigh  which  was  like 
a  pathetic  undertone  in  her  speech.  It  was  the  note 


COLLISIONS.  311 

for  which  ho  had  been  waiting ;  it  gave  him  that  assur 
ance  for  which  ho  had  hungered. 

"  Constance,"  ho  cried,  trembling  with  a  passion 
of  anguish  and  delight,  "  have  you  forgiven  mo  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  let  us  speak  of  it ! "  she  pleaded,  with 
anxious  haste,  as  if  eager  to  push  the  memory  out  of 
sight ;  "  I  have  punished  myself  much  worse  than 
you." 

Sho  stood  silent  for  some  moments,  and  her  face, 
touched  with  the  pallor  of  tho  moon,  seemed  to  him 
wondrously  sweet  and  pathetic.  lie  was  yearning  to 
clasp  her  in  his  arms ;  but  there  was  something  in  her 
reserve  which  he  was  impelled  to  respect.  Suddenly 
she  turned  away  from  him,  went  to  tho  piano  and 
opened  it.  She  struck  tho  keys  softly,  and  wandered 
away  in  a  musing  prelude,  which  gradually  gathered 
into  the  exquisitely  sad  and  tender  melody  of  Elaine's 
44 'Song  of  Love  and  Death  " : 

**  Sweet  is  true  love,  though  given  in  vain,  in  vain, 
And  sweet  is  Death  who  puts  an  end  to  pmn  : 

I  know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  I. 
Love,  art  thou  sweet!  then  bitter  death  must  be: 
Love,  thou  art  bitter ;  sweet  is  death  to  me. 

Oh,  love,  if  death  be  sweeter,  let  mo  die," 

He  stood  again  at  her  side,  and  felt,  with  a  sub 
dued  agitation,  the  bliss  of  being  near  her,  of  having 
won  her  confidence,  of  having  the  privilege  of  sharing 
her  troubles. 

Her  fingers  lingered  on  the  keys,  and  again  hovered 
away  in  a  shadowy  voluntary,  in  which  there  roso  out 
of  sorrow  trust  and  hope  and  consolation.  Sho  looked 
up  into  his  face  while  she  played,  and  saw  tho  tender 


312       THE  LIGHT  OP  HER  COUNTENANCE. 

luster  of  his  glance,  and  the  faithfulness — the  stanch 
and  beautiful  faithfulness — which  had  endured  through 
trials,  rebuffs,  and  humiliations. 

"  I  love  you,  Constance,"  he  murmured. 

"  And  I  love  your  constancy,"  she  answered,  with 
a  faint  smile. 

He  seized  her  hand  and  drew  it  gently  through  his 
his  arm,  as  she  rose  from  the  piano. 

"  Promise  me,"  he  said,  "  that  you  will  no  more 
sing  that  heartrending  song." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  with  a  look  which  made  his 
heart  leap ;  "  henceforth  I  shall  sing — 

4  And  sweet  is  Love  who  puts  an  end  to  pain.' " 


THE   END. 


APPLETONS' 

Town  and  Country  Library. 

PUBLISHED  BEm-MONTHLT. 

Bound  In  tasteful  paper  covers,  at  50  cents  each ;  also  In  cloth,  at  73  cents  each 
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1.  THE  STEEL  HAMMER.     By  Locis  ULBACH,  author  of  "Madame 

Gossclin." 

"  'The  Steel  Hammer,'  by  Louis  Ulbach,  is  not  only  a  pplendld  bit  of  fiction, 
finely  conceived  and  vividly  wrought  oat,  bat  It  has  the  rare  merit  of  appealing 
to  the  two  clashes  that  go  eo  far  toward  making  an  the  general  reading  public. 
...  It  Is  this  hnppv  combination  of  objective  and  subjective  treatment  which 
mike*  of  'The  Ste<A  Hammer'  a  story  worthy  of  Gaboriou,  while  at  the  flame 
time  it  !•  a  study  of  the  human  conscience  which  might  hare  evolved  itself  from 
the  mind  of  Baleac."—  TfM  Critic. 

2.  EVE.      A  Novel      By  S.  BARINO-GOCLD,  author  of  "Red  Spider," 

"  Little  Tu'penny,"  etc, 

•'The  machinery  of  the  plot  Is  made  the  vehicle  for  vlcroroas  study  of  chnrao- 
tnrand  description  of  quaint  and  Interesting  life  in  a  secluded  part  of  England. 
Japp*r  and  his  brother,  Barbara;  Eve,  and  the  two  seniors,  are  wrought  oat  with 
artistic  and  painstaking  skill,  and  several  of  the  minor  personages  are  studied 
with  hardly  l«*s  cdocL  The  novel  it  itrong,  bright,  and  eminently  readable."-— 
Ecltdic  Xayculne. 

3.  FOR  FIFTEEN  YEARS.     A  Sequel  to  "The  Steel  Hammer."     By 

Louis  ULBACII. 

"Though  'The  Steel  Hammer,'  tho  story  to  which  'For  Fifteen  Years'  In  the 
i^quel,  was  a  fascinating  one,  it  was  a  comparatively  tame  prelude  to  one  of  the 
moat  powerful  dcnoument*  possible  to  conreive.  The  plots  and  counter-plot*  are 
worked  out  with  a  power  and  devotion  which  art)  startling  in  their  Intensity.'1— 
Baltimore  American. 

4.  A  COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION.    A  Novel    By  LUCAS  MALET,  au 

thor  of  "  Colonel  Enderby's  Wife,"  "  Mrs.  Lorimer,n  etc. 

MIt  would  require  UB  to  po  back  to  Mls»  Arjfften  to  find  anvthlnc  that  better 
deserved  the  pr&lfe  of  fine  form,  fine  grouping,  fine  coloring,  hamoroas  delinea 
tion,  and  precision  of  design."— London  Spectator. 

5.  THE  DEEMSTER.    A  Romance.    By  HALL  CAIN*. 

••The  spiritual  ffrandenr  of  Its  conception  ami  the  tremendous  nature  of  the  • 
force*  unpaged  raise  it  to  the  region  of  tragic  drama,  .  .  .  QrandJy  conceived  and ' 
grandly  executed."— London  Academy. 

6.  A  VIRGINIA  INHERITANCE.     By  EDMUND  PENDLCTON,  author  of 

44  A  Conventional  Bohemian."    (In  cloth.    Price,  $1.00.) 

" ...  It  has  an  intcrret  and  fre«hne«s  of  its  own  ;  IcparU  It  is  arousing:  In 
parU  witty ;  here  and  there  wise.  The  courtety  of  the  Chester*,  their  odrtltl*^, 
their  reckleit  acceptance  of  every  claim  of  exorbitant  bocpitality,  their  indolent 
eareleitneM,  their  embodiment  of  the  •  hospitable,  ont-at-elbow,  Irrelevant, 
sympathetic  Booth/  are  set  forth  in  a  manner  which  oaa  a  aort  of  taad nation.**— 
Th4  Saturday  S*vitv,  London. 


Appletons'  Town  and  Country  Library. 

7.  NINETTE  :  An  Idyll  of  Provence,    By  the  author  of  "  Vera." 

**  A  very  charratngProvencal  idyll.  The  author  of  '  Vfira'  must  be  reckoned 
among  the  very  few  English  writers  who  are  capable  of  reproducing  the  atmos 
phere  of  Continental  life."—  Tto  Athen&um. 

8.  "THE  RIGHT  HONOURABLE."    A  Romance  of  Society  and  Poll- 

ties.    By  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY  and  Mrs.  CAMPBELL-PRAED. 

*'Tho  moral  IB  sound.  It  Is  one  of  duty  victoriously  achieved  though  at  preat 
cost;  and  perhaps  verisimilitude  is  not  strained  by  the  idealization  which  Im 
putes  to  the  woman's  superior  btreugth  of  renunciation  and  moral  stamina  the 
successful  passage  through  the  lu*t  and  most  fiery  trial.  Incidentally  there  is 
much  bright  description  of  fashionable  life  and  people."—  New  York  'liibune, 

9.  THE  SILENCE  OF  DEAN  MAITLAND.    By  MAXWELL  GREY. 

"The  story  culminates  in  a  scene  which  Is  almost  uncqualed  and  unexampled 
in  fiction.  .  .  .  As  a  tale  of  spiritual  struggle,  as  a  marvelouely  graphic  and  vital 
picture  of  ihe  action  and  reaction  of  human  lile,  4  Tho  Silence  of  Dean  Alaitland  • 
is  a  book  that  is  destined  to  an  extraordinary  recognition  and  permanent  fame  in 
literature."—  Boston  Traveller. 

10.  MRS.  LORIMER:  A  Study  in  Black  and  White.     By  LUCAS  MALET, 

author  of  "  Colonel  Enderby's  Wife,"  **  A  Counsel  of  Perfection." 

*'4Mrs.  Lorimer'  is  not  only  brimful  of  cleverness,  profuse  and  carelesa 
cleverness,  as  of  one  rich  in  Intelligence,  and  of  genuine,  softly  reflective  humor, 
Bucli  as  critics  love  :  but  of  power  of  a  kind  so  separate  thnt  it  Is  hard  to  charac 
terize  without  quoting  in  Justification  the  whole  book.  It  is  a*  a  Btory  of  rare 
prominence,  alike  of  humor  and  of  pathos,  that  we  recommend  '  Mre.  Lorimer.'  " 
—London  Spectator. 

11.  THE  ELECT  LADY.     By  GEORGE  MACDOHALD,  author  of  "Homo 

Again,"  etc. 

"  Rich  In  imaginative  beauty  and  fine  insight  Into  the  mysteries  of  spiritual 
llfo."—  .£0Ma'0n  tijxctator. 


"There  are  some  good  bits  of  dialogue  and  strong  situations  in  the  book."— 
Th*  Athenaum. 

12.  THE   MYSTERY  OF  THE   "OCEAN   STAR."     A  Collection  of 

Maritime   Sketches.      By  W.  CLARK  RUSSELL,  author  of  "The 
Wreck  of  the  *  Grosvenor,'  "  etc. 

"Mr.  Clark  Russell  occupies  ft  peculiarly  happy  position  In  literature.  He  is 
absolutely  without  competitors.  Opinions  may  differ  as  to  the  best  writer  in 
almost  any  other  line  or  work,  but  there  is  only  one  fabulist  of  the  sea,  and,  in 
one  renpect,  Clark  linpsell  is  a  better  story-teller  ihan  any  of  bis  colleagues  in 
other  branches  of  fiction.1'—  tfon  Francisco  'Examiner. 

13.  ARISTOCRACY.    A  Novel.     (In  cloth.     Price,  $1.00.) 

"A  very  clover  and  amuslncr  piece  of  novel-wrltirier  is  'Aristocracy,*  by  an 
nnknowu  author,  who  scorns  to  huve  a  sufficient  knowlodjre  of  the  manners  and 
tone  of  pood  society  in  England  to  satirize  thorn  unmercifully,  while  adhering  ia 
a  considerable  decree  to  the  truth.  ...  He  nl*o  knows  how  to  writo  an  interest 
ing  story,  and  his  book  Las  not  a  dull  pajje  lu  it"—  'The  6'tw,  New  York. 


Appletons'  Town  and  Country  Library. 

14.  A    RECOILING  VENfiEANCE.      By  FRANK  BARRETT,  author  of 

"  His  Helpmate,"  "  The  Great  Hesper."    With  lllustration§. 

*•  A  very  pretty,  natural,  and  refreshing  story  IB  •  A  Recoiling  Vengeance.*  .  .  . 
It  ft  a  story  told  in  the  first  person  of  a  nt  rnirulc  fur  tlio  inheritance  of  a  wealthy 
lawyer  in  a  country  town,  and  In  its  clearness  and  brightness  remind!  as  cot  a 
little  of  the  mauner  of  Anthony  Trollop*.1 '—London  Saturday  Review. 

15.  THE  SECRET  OF  FONTAINE-LA-CROIX,     A  Novel.     By  MAR 

GARET  FIELD. 

The  heroine  of  this  story  is  an  Enelishwoman,  bat  the  events  orcur  principally 
in  France.  In  the  main  the  story  1*  domestic  In  character,  affording  some  charm- 
ing  pictures  of  life  in  a  French  chfiteau.  bat  scenes  in  the  Franco-German  War 
are  also  depicted,  and  the  action  leads  up  to  a  striking  and  most  dramatic 
situation. 

•'An  Interesting  story  well  told."— CftrMtan  Union. 
"Altogether  a  delightful  tlorj."— Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

16.  THE  MASTER  OF  RATIIKELLY.     A  Novel.    By  HAWIKT  SMART, 

author  of  "  A  False  Start,"  "  Brcezie  Langton,"  etc. 

"The  Master  of  Rathkelly"  is  an  Irish  landlord,  and  the  Incidents  of  tho 
atory  illustrate  the  nature  of  the  present  conflict  in  Ireland  in  a  striking  manner. 

17.  DONOVAN:  A  Modern  Englishman.     A  Novel.     By  EDNA  LYALL. 

New  cheap  edition.     (In  cloth.     Price,  $1.60.) 

A  c*icap  edition  of  "  Donovan  "  has  long  been  called  for  by  those  who  ha  TO 
recojrni/.ed  Its  merits,  and  wished  to  HOP  its  influence  extended.  It  tails  within 
the  range  of  thonxbi  stimulated  by  "  itobcrt  hlsmere,"  and  books  of  iU  class. 

18.  THIS  MORTAL  COIL.     A  Novel.    By  GRANT  ALLS*. 

*'  Mr.  Grant  Allen's  is  a  jroort  story,  a  little  burdened  with  the  constant  effort 
for  a  sparklin?  nnrratire,  bat  fairly  true  to  life,  and  speaks  through  its  charac 
ters."—  r/te  Athenaeum. 

19.  A  FAIR  EMIGRANT.    By  ROSA  MCLHOLLAND,  author  of  "Marcella 

Grace,"  etc. 

"The  •  fair  emlewnt'  Is  a  yonne  lady  who  retnrni  to  her  father's  conntrr  for 
tbe  purpose  of  trying  to  clear  his  namo  from  the  distrraco  of  a  crime  with  -which 
be  was  falsely  charged.  ...  A  very  interesting  narrative."— 2'kt  Spectator. 

"  A  capital  noTcL"— Scottma*. 

10.  THE  APOSTATE.    A  Novel.    By  Eiunn  DAUDKT. 

"The  Apostate**  l»  a  novel  of  mnch  more  than  ordinary  power,  and  In  a  field 
somewhat  new.  In  morals  it  is  unobjectionable,  and  in  style  noble  and  imprest- 
Ire,  Tbe  translation  baa  been  carefully  done. 


D.  APPLKTON  A  CO.,  ProuaHtsa,  1,  S,  A  5  BOMD  STUCK,  Nnr  TORS. 


Appletom?  Town  and  Country  Library. 

21.  RALEIGH   WESTGATE;    or,  Epimenides  in  Maine,      By  HELEN 

KENDSICK  JOHNSON. 

The  time  of  this  story  is  jnst  before  and  daring  the  rebellion,  but  the  reader 
IP  carried  back  to  tome  curious  episodes  in  the  early  history  of  Maine,  the  tradi 
tions  of  which  supply  part  of  the  material  for  the  plot 

14  Oat  of  the  common  rnn  of  fiction.11— Boston  Beacon. 

"  Au  atmosphere  of  quaint  humor  pervades  the  book."— Cftr&Jian  Inquirer. 

22.  ARIU3  TUB  LIBYAN :  A  Romance  of  the  Primitive  Church.    A 

new  cheap  edition.    (Also  in  cloth.    Price,  $1.25.) 

"  Portraya  the  life  and  character  of  the  primitive  Christians  with  great  force 
and  vividness  of  imagiuation."--.flrarptfr'*  Magazine. 

"  Beside  this  work  most  of  the  so-called  religious  novels  lade  Into  insignifi 
cance."—  Sprinyfitld  Republican. 

23.  CONSTANCE,  AND  CALBOT'S  RIVAL.    By  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 

"  The  reader  will  find  a  fascinating  interest  In  these  strange  and  cleverly  told 
stories  which  are  as  ingenious  iu  conception  aa  they  are  brilliant  in  develop 
ment.  "—JBoston  Gazette. 

24.  WE  TWO.    By  EDNA  LYALL,  author  of  "Donovan."    New  cheap 

edition.    (Also  in  cloth.    Price,  fil.BO.) 

"We  rc(,ornmend  all  novel  readers  to  treat  this  novel  with  the  care  which 
such  a  Btroug,  uncommon,  and  thoughtful  book  demands  and  deserves. 'V-JUmdon 
Spectator. 

25.  A  DREAMER  OF  DREAMS.    A  Modern  Romance.    By  the  author 

of  "  Thoth." 

"  Of  an  original  and  artistic  type  .  .  .  near  to  being  a  tremendous  feat  of 
fancy." — At/wmxwn. 

"  Resembles  its  predecessor  ( "  Thoth  " )  in  the  weirdne?s  of  the  plot  and  the 
incisive  brilliance  of  style."— London  Literary  World. 

26.  THE  LADIES*  GALLERY.    A  Novel    By  JCSTIN  MC€ABTHY  and 

Mrs.  CAMPBELL-PRAED. 

"  It  is  interesting  and  racy,  and  abounds  In  clever  sketches  of  character  and 
in  good  situation*.  Both  authors  are,  so  to  speak,  on  their  native  heath.  .  .  . 
Altogether,  the  book  abounds  in  amusement."— London  Guardian. 

•'  An  absorbing,  powerful,  and  artistic  work."— Lon don  Pott. 

27.  THE  REPROACH  OF  ANNESLEY.    By  MAXWELL  GREY,  author 
of  "The  Silence  of  Dean  Maitland." 

"The  Reproach  of  Annesley"  will  be  welcomed  by  every  reader  of  "Th« 
Silence  of  Dean  Maitland,11  a  novel  that  has  been  pronounced  by  both  English 
and  American  critics  a  work  possessing  striking  power  and  originality. 


12mo,  paper  oov«r.    Price,  CO  cents  eaoh. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  1, 3,  &  6  BOND  STREET,  New  TOKK. 


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A  VIRGINIA  INHERITANCE.  By  EDMUND  PINDLETON,  author 
of  "A  Conventional  Bohemian."  12mo.  Paper,  60  cents;  cloth, 
$1.00. 

••'A  Virginia  Inheritance  '  will  eaMly  take  rank  among  tbebert  novel*  that 
have  appeared  this  year,  both  for  the  remarkable  Interest  and  artlnicallv  skilllol 
development  of  the  etory,  and  for  the  brilliancy  and  originality  of  it*  character- 
sketching."—  Boston  Umnt  Journal, 

A  NYMPII  OF  THE  WEST.  By  HOWARD  SEELY.  12mo.  Paper, 
60  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"In  his  'Nymph  of  the  West*  Mr.  Uoward  Seelr  has  presented  a  lively  and 
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in  western  Texan,  which  region,  as  well  as  with  the  habits  of  its  people,  he  ap 
pears  to  be  unusually  familiar.  Cynthia  Dallas,  the  heroine.  Is  a  froph  and 
original  conception  —  a  frank,  high-minded  girl,  with  enough  of  the  Innocent  co 
quetry  of  her  BOX  to  make  her  almost  irresistible."—  Tht  Sun  (New  York), 

A  DEBUTANTE  IN  NEW  YORK  SOCIETY.  HER  ILUJ- 
SIOXS,  AND  WHAT  BECAME  OF  THEM.  By  RACHEL  BUCHANAN. 
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niually  attractive."  —  Boston  Courier. 

"It  seems  to  be  the  work  of  a  lady  who  has  witnessed  what  she  chronicles. 
She  makes  her  report  on  the  actualities  and  illations  of  New  York  society  with* 
oat  a  particle  of  sarcasm  or  Ill-feeling."—  Journal  of  Cjmmtrc*. 

NINETTE:  An  Idyll  of  Provence.  By  the  author  of  "V6ra." 
12mo.  Paper,  60  cents;  half  bound,  76  cents. 

"The  tale  in  itself  is  true  to  nature  tnd  tenderly  pathetic."—  London  Pott, 
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A  COUNSEL  OF  PERFECTION.  By  LUCAS  MALST,  author  of 
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cents  ;  half  bound,  76  cents. 

"It  would  require  ns  to  fro  back  to  Miss  Austen  to  find  anything  that  better 
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tion,  and  precision  of  design."—  London  Spectator. 

THE  ELECT  LADY.    By  GEORGE  MAC!)ONALD,  author  of  "  Home 

Again,"  etc.     12mo.     Paper,  60  cents;  half  bound,  75  cents. 
"  There  are  tome  good  blU  of  dialogue  and  strong  sicuatioDi  In  the  book."— 


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*"-  London  Spectator. 


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HISS  CHURCHILL  I  A  STUDY.  By  CHRISTIAN  REID,  author  of 
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The  author  calls  "  Miss  Churchill"  a  study,  for  the  reason  that  it  con 
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in  the  story,  the  action  taking  place  partly  in  the  South  and  partly  in  Europe, 
while  tho  experiences  and  vicissitudes  of  the  heroine  are  of  groat  interest. 
The  contrasts  of  place  arid  character  make  it  a  very  vivid  picture. 

THE  MASTER  OF  THE   CEREMONIES.    A  NOVEL.    By 

GEORGE  MANVILLE  FENN,  author  of  "  Double  Cunning,"  etc.     12mo. 

Paper,  50  cents  ;  half  bound,  75  cents. 

"  Tho  interest  in  tho  plot  is  skillfully  kept  up  to  the  end."—  Academy. 
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LIL  LOROIER.  A  NOVEL.  By  TIIKO  Girt,  author  of  "Pretty 
Misa  Bellow,"  etc.  12mo.  Paper,  50  cents;  half  bound,  75  cents. 

Lil  Lorimor.  the  heroine  of  this  novel,  is  a  character  marked  by  many 
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to  an  unusual  degree.  The  action  of  the  story  takes  place  partly  in  South 
America,  with  an  English  family  residing  there,  affording  some  fresh  and 
striking  pictures  of  life. 

IN    ONE    TOWN.      A    NOVEL.    By  EDMUND   DOWNKT.      12mo. 

Paper,  25  cents. 

11  A  story  of  unusual  merit  ;  by  turns  romantic,  pathetic,  and  humorous." 

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12mo.  Cloth,  $1.00;  paper,  60  cents. 

The  scenes  of  u  A  Zealot  in  Tulle  "  are  laid  in  Florida,  the  introductory 
part  in  Florida  of  seventy  years  a<jo;  the  main  story  in  Florida  of  to-day. 
The  plot  turns  mainly  upon  romantic  incidents  connected  with  a  treasure 
buried  in  an  old  fort  by  the  Spaniards  at  the  time  of  their  occupancy. 

THE  WITCHING  TIME:  TALES  FOR  THE  YEAR'S  END. 
Py  F.  MAHION  CHAWFOUD,  W,  R,  Nonius,  LAUUKNCK  ALMA  TADKMA, 
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bound,  75  cents. 

"The  spiritnal  prandeur  of  its  conception  and  tho  tremendous  nature  of  the 
forces  crumbed  rainc  It  to  the  region  of  traylc  drama.  .  .  .  Grandly  conceived 
and  grandly  executed.1'— London  Academy. 

••  It  is  a  marvelous  study  ...  by  the  creatire  power  of  genius."—  Literary 
World,  London. 

"  Fapcinates  the  mind  like  the  gathering  and  banting  of  a  tiorm^—IUuf- 
traUd  London  A'ewi. 

AN  UNLAID  GHOST.  A  STUDY  IN  METEMPSYCHOSIS.  By 
an  American  Author.  12mo.  Paper,  60  cents;  half  bound,  75 
cents. 

"It  wonld  not  bo  fair  to  the  reader*  to  ontlino  the  stranpo  d'nofiment  of 
this  tale,  or  to  prompt  hi«  attention  to  the  identity  of  the  spirit  In  the  two  parts 
of  the  romance.  So  fubtilo,  vet  unmistakable,  is  the  eneRestion  of  identity  that  It 
Is  startling.  The  exquisite  lanpunpc.  the  noetic  power  of  description,  enchant 
the  render,  and  the  novel  is  one  which  will  make  one  of  tho  greatest  successes 
of  tho  day."— Botton  Traveler. 

THE  CASE  OF  MOHAMMED  BENANI.  A  STORY  OF  TO 
DAY.  12mo.  Paper  cover,  50  cents;  half  bound,  75  cents. 

This  novel  is  based  npon  certain  exciting  events  that  occurred  In  Morocco 
dnrinp  the  priPt  yor.  The  author  is  an  American  centleman  residing  in  Tan 
gier,  who  lately  came  to  Washington  to  expose  the  cruelties  existing  in  Morocco 
under  the  protection  of  the  American  flag.  The  political  events  of  the  narrative 
are  secondary  to  tho  incidents  of  the  story,  while  for  the  novelist's  purpose 
Russia  and  Russian  personages  tako  the  place  of  the  United  States  and  Wash 
ington  official*. 

"The  story  is  well  told,  and  keeps  the  attention  fixed  thronehout.  It  pass** 
backward  and  forward,  from  Africa  to  Russia,  and  deals  DOW  with  actual  person 
ages,  DOW  with  creations  of  fancy."—  The  AUienaum, 

THROUGH  GREEN  GLASSES:  ANDY  KERRIGAN'S  GREAT 
DISCOVERY  AND  OTHER  IRISH  TALES.  By  F.  M.  ALLEN. 
With  Illustrations  by  M.  FITZOERALD.  12mo.  Paper  cover,  50 
cents;  half  bound,  75  cents. 

"The  book  la  full  of  drollery,  laughter  Is  rippling  over  every  page,*1— London 
Spectator. 

••  Delictously  humorous  sketches."—  Whitehall  Review. 
»*  The  funniest  book  of  th«  year."— St.  8tephtt?»  Bnitw. 

ONE  MAID'S  MISCHIEF.  By  Grouo*  MASYTILK  FINN,  author 
of  " The  Story  of  Antony  Grace,"  "The  Master  of  the  Ceremonies," 
etc,  12mo,  Paper,  80  centa. 

Mr.  Fran  ha*  produced  many  excellent  novel*,  but  none  more  pleasant  ao4 
•ftfoyable  Uua  this. 


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a  APPLETON  &  CO.'Q  PUBLICATIONS. 

KNIGHT.JSKRANT  A  NOVEL.  By  EDNA  LYAIA,  author  of 
"  Donovan,"  "  We  Two,"  k'  Won  by  Waiting."  12mo.  Cloth,  $1.50, 
Uniform  with  the  author1*  provtous  book*. 


Mlaa  Lyall'e  novels  have  mot  with  a  flattering  reception  from 
of  readers  that  look  for  a  high  ethical  purpose  in  fiction.  Her  books,  while 
animated  by  an  underlying  religious  motive,  have  a  strong  interest  derived 
from  well-drawn  characters  and  well-  wrought  plots. 

DAWN,  A  NOVEL.  By  H.  RIDER  HAGGARD,  author  of  "  The  Witch'* 
Head,"  "  Kinpf  Solomon**  Mines,"  "  She,"  etc.  In  two  volume*,  12mo, 
pupor  cover,  00  oonttt.  In  ono  volume,  half  bound,  75  cent*. 

**  4  Dawn*  is  a  novel  of  merit  fur  above  the  average.  From  the  first  nngo 
the  story  arrests  the  mind  and  arouses  the  expectations.  This  in  a  striking 
and  original  novel,  breathing  an  elevated  tone."—  London  limes. 

THE  OLD  HOUSE  AT  8ANDWICH.    A  NOVEL.    By  JOSEPH 

HATTON,     III  mo.     -*»  cent*. 

u  'Tlio  Old  House  nt  Sandwich'  i*  thoroughly  Interesting,  and  may  bo 
heartily  recommended."  —  London  Globe. 

44  It  is  impossible  to  miss  the  fascination  of  interest,  of  stirring  change 
and  novelty,  of  lifo-liko  incident,  of  exciting  adventure,  and  withal,  of  * 
truthfulness  that  beguiles  the  reader  into  speculating  where  fiction  ends 
aiivi  fact  begins  in  Mr.  Joseph  Ilattou'a  singularly  vivid  novel."  —  Daily 


44  Mr.  Ilutton  offers  to  readers  of  fiction  ono  of  the  most  attractive  novels 
of  the  duy."—  Morning  2\>st. 

AN  ACCOMPLISHED  GENTLEMAN.    A  NOVEL.    By  JULIAN 

STURGIS.    A  new  edition.     12  mo.    Paper  uncut,  25  cent*. 

The  tuHteful  sorica  in  which  this  story  now  appear*  will  hereafter  be 
designated  TUB  GAINSBOROUGH  Suiux*,  the  title  uoing  derived  from  thu 
flrnt  volume  of  tho  aories,  Mr.  Julian  Hawthorne'*  44  Mrs.  Gainsborough'* 


JOIIN.A-DIlEA»rS.  A  NOVEL,  By  JULJAM  Srunaw,  author  of 
14  John  Muldinout,"  uto.  A  now  editlou.  12mo.  Paper,  25  ccut*. 

IN  PARADISE.  A  NOVEL.  From  the  German  of  PAUL  HKTSX. 
A  now  edition.  In  two  volumes.  12mo,  half  bound.  Price  for  tho 
two  volumes,  01.80. 

44  We  may  call  4  In  Paradise'  a  great  novel  with  the  utmost  confidence 
In  our  judgment  of  it."—^.  Y.  Evening  Jtbst. 


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14  DAY  USE 

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